The Carnival Trilogy
by Mirrordance
Summary: Crawford gets a gypsy's job at the carnival. When Ken goes to have his fortune told, they begin a chain of events that could change their lives, and the world, forever
1. Default Chapter

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance@hotmail.com

Title: "Carnival"

Type: one-shot

Warnings: language, angst

Spoilers: with references to entire series

Teaser: Crawford gets a gypsy's job at the carnival.  Ken goes to have his fortune told…  

Keywords: Brad, Ken, angst

"Carnival"

A WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

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"The answers we find 

are never what we had in mind 

so we make it up as we go along 

you won't talk of dreams 

and I won't mention tomorrow 

and we won't make those promises we can't keep…"

- from "I Am"

by Nine Days

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Crawford's P.O.V. …

      The first thing that I noticed was the sounds.  

      Throngs of people laughing and talking, some isolated shouts here and there, sometimes a chorus.  The chugging of an old engine, struggling to pull up an old roller coaster car to the top of a parabolic ride.  The cheap monster sound effects from the horror train.  The sharp, eerie music emanating from the carousel.  

      I made my way toward the carnival.  Closer and closer.

      Things always happened in a blur here.  Everything moved and everything shone in assaulting neon under the pitch-black night.

      I could smell sweat and oil and popcorn and greasy burgers and hotdogs and cotton candy.

      I remembered older days.  You'd know from miles away if the carnival or the circus was in town.  There was something that cackled in the air.

      The child in myself that I barely remembered was starting to make my heart beat just a little bit faster, my eyes just open a little bit wider, my walk go just a little bit slower.  Everything just called for my attention in this cheap, crowded place.

      I stopped walking at the entrance to Madam Oliva's Spiritual Room.  

      It was nothing more but an old tent, really.  A dark green tent, weathered by rain and sun and years.  The entrance was a parted opening, and the small area within could be sighted through layers of beaded, translucent lace.

      It looked just as how I thought it would.  My dreams led me to where I now stood.  Visions of this place plagued me in sleep, and haunted me when I was awake.

      Something in this place would complete me-- or, at least, calm me for awhile.  It called, I responded.

      "So you have come to seek the Mystifier," a voice called.  Her English was fairly good.

      I turned to the old, scratchy voice.  Madame Oliva sounded familiar, and looked familiar too.  I've been with her in my visions.

      Madame Oliva is actually an old Japanese woman who pretends to be a gypsy for a living.  A sagging face that could have once belonged to a beautiful woman was covered in thick make-up.  She was short and a little stout, especially in the bulky layers of her multi-colored costume.

      Her bangles jingled with every little movement.  From the hoops in her ears, her wrists, even her bare feet.               

      We measured each other in silence.

      She moved forward, placed a hand to my chest, over my heart, as her eyes peered into mine.

      "You have great weight in your heart," she said in that homely, wobbly voice of hers.

      "All people do," I tell her, "Is that all you could say, 'Gypsy?'"  
      She smiled, her crooked teeth showing.  "For the rest, you have to pay"

      "I wouldn't pay a fake," I retort.

      Her face screwed to a disapproving frown, "Why you American come only to antagonize me?"  
      I crossed my arms over my chest, thinking.  She was right; my visions brought me to this place, a little town in Japan where a carnival was visiting.  I had no idea why, and for some reason the answers eluded me.

      "Are you for real?" I ask her.

      She gestured for me to come inside the tent, and I followed her in.  The place smelled of burning incense.  There were pillows strewn all over the floor, and a crystal ball sitting atop a crate hidden under more layers of colorful cloth.

      "I am Madame Oliva," she says, "Mystifier.  Bridge to now and the future, now and the past.  Connection of the living and the dead, holder of the magical eye, traveler of the transcended road--"

      "Prove it," I say.

      "I have nothing to prove to you," she says, "Pay me, and you will believe"

      "Make me believe and I'll pay," I told her.

      "Double or nothing," she said, chin up.

      "Fine," I agree, setting myself comfortably into the seats.  "What does my future hold?"

      "I need time to summon the spirits…"

      I watched her hummm-hummm-hummm her way to a 'trance,' then her eyes to snap open and tell me suddenly, that I will soon face a GREAT CHALLENGE.

      "Oh please," I rolled back my eyes, "That is totally general.  You probably say that to everyone and they all probably believe you because it is most likely true for everyone in the world--"

      The old coot actually grinned at me.  "But it is true, right? I tell the correct future.  My money.  NOW"

      I stared at her, dumbfounded for a few moments.  I could break her frail body in half with my bare hands.  Instead I handed her ten dollars.

      She smirked and pocketed it, then looked at me with those probing old eyes.  "You do believe.  Otherwise you wouldn't have been here at all"

      I met her gaze evenly.  "I want you to give me a job"

      "You'll drive my too-few customers away!" she retorted (rightfully enough), "And you do not look as if you need one!"

      "Give me a job," I said, not bothering to give her reasons I myself didn't have, "And I'll give you the winning numbers to the coming lotto.  That's quite a lot of yen, 'Madame.'  You wouldn't have to do this ever again for the rest of your life"

      She stared at me.  She had this disturbing habit, this crazy old woman.

      "All right," she said, "I'll give you a job.  But those numbers better win, you idiot boy"

      She just looked at me and believed. It's funny how this tricky fraud, this wily businesswoman could believe me, a stranger, so easily.

      This must be one hell of a profession.  Why I was suddenly so possessed into entering it, though, I do not know.

      The carnival would only be in this town for a little over a week, before moving on to other places.

      I was three days into my new job when a familiar face peered into my tent with a tentative smile on his young face.  I felt myself stiffen.

      Weiß.

      The sight of him brought back memories that I've been trying to forget for the past few years of my life.

      We met at a tumultuous time.  I was working for a corrupt politician, and a manic secret organization that was set on world domination.  I, and three allies, turned coat on them all, and decided that this world was ours instead.

      Weiß Kreuz also worked for a secret organization, one that was bent on stopping us; I could hardly blame them, of course.  What I couldn't forgive was that these people had ruined our plans.  Mere people.  Powerless people.

      How could the weak defeat the strong? They went against nature itself.  They reversed the very way by which I had long lived my life-- secure power, and all will be yours.

      It hadn't been true.  None that I've ever believed had been true.  And that was something that I couldn't forgive them for.  They made me doubt myself.

      Schwarz had broken apart after our defeat, each of the four of us returning to our own countries.  Not that anyone or anything awaited our return, just that there seemed no other reason to stay together and stay where we were.

      I've been in America, living rather well.  Things just started to fall into routine back at home, bordering on normal.  Maybe I was resigning myself to living the rest of my life in that manner.  That was until the visions came to me, of this place in the gypsy's tent.  

      I could see certain aspects of the future at will, but there are other kinds of visions that haunted me whether I called for them or not.  This sort of powerful feeling was what made me return to Japan, and this forsaken little place.

      I've wondered why.

      But now, seeing the face of my enemy peering into my room, I knew.

      This was my turn.  This was my chance to succeed at where I had failed before.  Ultimately, no matter how long it took, my destiny had been to defeat them.

      The brunette looked at me a little skeptically, a joke winking past his eyes.  "You're Madame Oliva?"  
      "No," I tell him in what I would proudly refer to as rather perfect Japanese, "I'm her apprentice, Ranco"

      He seemed to be mulling it over.  This one, this Ken Hidaka, he had an expressive face.  It was strange, meeting like this.  He couldn't recognize me at all, and I couldn't blame him.  Madame Oliva had insisted on a disguise; she gave me a goddamn pirate eye patch, among other things.  And god help me, I indulged the crazy old woman.

      Of course, I couldn't hide myself completely.  If Hidaka had as much assassin in him as I think, he would detect a pointed resemblance between Ranco and Brad Crawford.  But his more sensible side would tell him we couldn't possibly be one and the same person.  I couldn't blame him; even with my suspicious nature, I wouldn't think I would end up in this screwed-up place either.

      He exhaled a deep breath as he grinned at me, figuring that there probably wasn't really much of a difference between one fraud fortune-teller to her apprentice.

      He sat down across from me and my goddamn useless crystal ball, laughing a little at himself.  "I've never done this before"

      Let the fucking spirits guide you, I wanted to say, but decided to bite my tongue instead.  

      "I will be your guide," I tell him, trying to adopt Madame's overacting tone, but finding myself even more half-hearted than usual, "Just believe"

      He was blushing a little, chuckling again.  At himself, at me.  Well, if he knew the whole story, I think maybe he'd laugh a whole lot more and die from it.

      "I'm sorry," he apologized, "it's just that you remind me of someone and this is more than a little unlikely--"

      "Shhh," I quiet him down, "I need silence to summon the visions"

      He bit his lip, though his shoulders still shook with repressed laughter.  God help him, he surely tried.

      The sights came at me from all angles, pulling me into a separate, future reality.

      A mission, which hadn't been surprising because that was what Weiß did for a living, after all.

      But tonight, it would be especially hard.  There would be more enemies than they had originally estimated.  They would get caught.  They would get hurt.

      Seeing these visions made me all tingly with excitement.  Weiß.  Defeated at last.  Maybe not directly by Schwarz, but I would think that I had some hand in it, if I deliberately misled him.

      "Tonight," I tell him, "a mission tonight"

      He suddenly stiffened, his smile falling from his lips.  "What?"  
      I was used to the reaction-- until now, I've been rather honest with those who searched for a hint of their future.  They were usually surprised that I knew that much about them.  I thought it was ridiculous-- people seeking fake fortunes for fun, then realizing they were faced with the real deal.

      "Easy," I continue, "You need not take the proper precautions.  You will do extremely well"

      "Wait, wait, wait--"  
      "Trance is over," I tell him, "pay now and leave"

      "But I have--"  
      "Questions?" I grated at him, "The spirits have spoken, please leave"

      He stared at me, eyes aflame.  I stood unflinching under the wounded gaze.  He lost the game, handing me my money before he left the room.

      For some reason, I felt as if I had lost too.  The picture of his stooped back retreating stayed with me.

      "You did something"

      I stiffened again at the sound of that scratchy voice.  Madame Oliva stepped forward from the shadows of the small room; I never even noticed she was there, and that was a very bad thing.  I've let Weiß get to me again, let my mixed feelings for them consume me into distraction.

      I didn't let on much that I was surprised by her presence.

      "I told his fortune," I said coolly, turning to her.

      "No," she said, "You may have just changed it"

      "I did no such thing," I told her, not liking the tone of this conversation very much.

      "I see it in you," she said, "regret buried under layer upon layer of hatred.  In your eyes--"

      "I'm not taking this from you," I cut her off, "You don't know anything.  You're a goddamn fraud"  
      "I'm not fraud enough to NOT know the difference between right and wrong," she retorted, "I know now how real you are.   I've seen you work.  You've got a gift I can only dream of possessing.  You don't know how to use it.  I don't think you ever have.  You came in here looking for something.  Or responding to something that was looking for you.  I hope you find it.  I hope you get your head on straight"

      We stood silent for awhile, the two of us just getting at each other.  She broke our trance, immersed in our own stubborn views, by turning her back on me and walking away, her bangles jingling, the sound melding into the mix of sensations that was the music of the Carnival.

      I didn't think it would take a scratchy old con-woman to finally change the way I perceived the universe.

      Suddenly I found myself in that old compound across town, where Weiß would attempt to make their kill, trying to convince myself that I would be here only to watch them fall, knowing all the while that I wasn't.

      Upon reflection, I doubt that they would take the advice of some small-town gypsy boy from a carnival.  But I had said it in deception, and that was the wrong part.  There are so many things we can do to alter the future, and that was probably always the great conflict of a precognizant; if we remained as witnesses and kept our hands off, or did anything to change it.

      This time around, I decided I would delve right in and correct the deception that I had tried to commit.

      I put the ski mask over my face.  Completely engulfed in black now, I was part of the night.  The stark white suit I once used to wear was kept.  I no longer wanted to daunt anyone with a feigned nonchalance.  I wanted to be unseen; both by the men I would hurt and the men I would save.

      I soared into the thick of things.

      Weiß would have very little excuse not to succeed in this one.

      Mirror-maze.

      I stood in front of several visions of myself, wondering where the right path would be for me to get out of this place.

      I touched the glass directly in front of me.  The multiple images did the same thing.

      I walked around, not really strategizing, but casing a bit, just letting my feet move and wondering where they would take me.  Everything here always seemed brand new.  I could get lost here for hours and hours.

      "I don't understand you"

      I turned around to see the owner of the familiar voice.  Hidaka.  Of course I didn't find him exactly, just multiple reflections of him.

      "What do you mean?" I asked him, walking around again.  I could see reflections of him and me and him and me and him and me everywhere, side by side, even though the real ones weren't together at all.

      "It didn't take me long to puzzle everything together.  But I want to know: where have you been?" he asked me, "What were you thinking? WHY?"  
      I stopped walking, and looked at one of his reflections right in the eye.  "I'm not sure"

      He seemed to accept my answer, just nodded in understanding.

      "That makes sense"

      "Hm?" I asked.

      "Things not making sense," he said, "makes sense"

      I frowned at him.  "Is that your philosophy in life?"  
      "For now," he replied with a chuckle.  

      We moved around the maze in silence for awhile.

      "I found the exit," he said, sounding a little surprised, "just stumbled into it, actually"

      "Good for you," I tell him flatly.

      "I…" his eyes met mine again, "Thank you.  Brad Crawford of Schwarz.  I'll never understand why, but thank you"

      --

      I watched as his arm reached forward, thinking that perhaps he was aiming for my shoulder.  I never felt his touch, as his hand most likely came into contact with a mirror with my image on it.

      "Hmph," he smirked, "things are never what they seem like"

      Then he just vanished, leaving me with myself.

      I didn't mind.

      Today, I quit my job.

      Besides, Madame and the carnival would be leaving town soon, and I didn't exactly need it anymore.

      There was a smile in her aged eyes, as if knowing that I was already somehow complete.

      "Here," I said, handing her the winning lotto numbers, "As promised"  
      She looked at the numbers, then up at me as she tore the paper to shreds, "Call me a fool"

      I chuckled, "No.  I'll call you theatrical"  
      "Hm?"  
      "You looked at them already," I laughed, "and no doubt have the numbers imprinted on your wily mind"

      "You needn't be so crude about it"

      We left like that.  The old woman had grown on me, with that slick, crooked grin with the crooked teeth and the sharp eyes.

      I walked away from the tent, which she had resumed control over.  As I moved away, I could hear her cooing for people passing by to come into her realm, and find the answers that they were looking for.

THE END

June 3, 2001

        
    


	2. Illusions

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance@hotmail.com

Title: Illusions

Type: One-shot, stand-alone sequel to "Carnival"

Warnings: angst, language

Spoilers: with references to entire series

Teaser: Weiß has been captured.  Ken betrays Kritiker to save them

Keywords: Crawford, Ken, Yoji, Manx, angst

"Illusions"

A WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

***********************************************************************

You had this look that of an angel  
it was such a bad disguise  
did you think for second I would not realize?

- "Somewhere in the Middle"

by Dishwalla

***********************************************************************

      Ken used to like the rain.

      There was a certain justice in its indiscriminate fall from the gray skies.  He could stand under its tingling embrace for hours on end.  Just him and the rain.

      He thought, that some aspect of human character always felt kindred with the droplets of water from the sky.  It always means a certain way to a certain person.

      The rain had always been cold, refreshingly so.  Now… well, he supposed it all simply depends on one's frame of mind.  It's colder than ever, falling furiously.

      They no longer embraced him.  The strings of water assaulted him like slivers and threads from the fingers of God, trying to mend the world and cleanse it.

      More than once has he looked at his bare forearms, just to see if there were trails of blood on them; the rain had hurt that much, felt as if it had fallen that hard.

      He ran through the storm, defying it.  He just ran and ran and ran, but there was no escape.  The only foreseeable end was the eventual arrival at his goal.

      Ken stopped by the door of the house, lungs burning.  He stood there for no more than two seconds, trying to catch his breath, before the owner opened it for him.  Ken never even had to knock, or ring the bell.  He knew Ken would come, just as Ken expected he would.

      For the first time, Ken started to question why he was here.  Ken started to question his judgment, why Ken had thought of him at this point in Ken's life.  Of why Ken had thought that he would help him.

      For the first time, Ken felt shame for his weakness and his helplessness, standing out in the rain.  Shivering, whimpering.

      For the first time today, Ken thanked the rain.  At least, the wet streaks had hidden the tears that his eyes had shed.  But it was a useless courtesy of Fate; somehow, Ken knew that he could tell Ken had cried.

      He stepped back politely and led Ken inside.

      Ken heard the satisfying click of the door as Brad Crawford closed it.  The moment he had, Ken turned on him and trained his gun to the back of Brad's head.  A gun… it was almost funny how much Ken wanted to wash his hands of all this.  If he didn't use his trademark bugnuks, maybe it wouldn't be him at all… But Brad didn't look daunted at all, as he slowly faced his attacker.

      "After all this time," Brad said, "this is a little pretentious, don't you think?"  
      Ken disregarded his comment, focusing on trying to steady his shaking hands.  "You knew I was going to come.  You have that advantage.  But I... I don't know what you plan to do about it.  This makes it fair"

      Brad cocked an eyebrow at him.  Arrogant sonofabitch.  But he held his ground, and held Ken's stare.

      "You helped me once," Ken said, and Ken could hear his own voice shaking, "And goddamnitt, you'll help me again."

      "You could try asking nicely"

      "I don't have the fucking time!"

      Silence followed after that.  Ken hated it that he sounded so desperate.  But there were certain things, like pride, that one had to sacrifice when it came to the matter of the life and death of friends.

      "Keep the gun," Brad said flatly, pushing past Ken to the living room of his house, "I'll do what you want."

      The living room was spacious, just like the rest of the house, for a man living alone.  And, it was painfully neat for the average bachelor.  Then again, nothing about the man Ken had come to seek out was average.

      Even in a pair of navy slacks and a crisp polo with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Crawford managed to emanate a sense of power.  And danger.  Ken wouldn't, and couldn't afford to ever let himself forget that Brad had been his enemy, once.  Or twice.  Or thrice.  Or several more other times than he cared to count.

      Right now, the only things Ken cared for were that: first, Brad had the gift to see the future.  And second, Brad helped him.  Just Once before.  But it had been enough for him to see that there was something in Brad that hadn't been completely what he had first thought.

      They sat across from each other.  Ken was soaking the classy couch, but Brad didn't seem to give a damn.  About the couch, that is.  Earlier Brad had handed Ken a towel which he decided to ignore; he felt imposing enough already, barging into Brad's house, seeking his help, then pulling a gun on him too.

      "What happened?" Brad asked.

      "You can see the future," Ken replied, sounding more bitter than he wanted, "I think you know damn well what happened.  You probably knew it before I did"

      "Maybe my whole life doesn't revolve around you, Weiß," Brad said to Ken's chagrin.  But then on second thought, it also sounded like a lie.

      "I'm not having this conversation with you," Ken tells him wearily, deciding that if Brad wanted to hear him say what had happened, he would save time and just get it the hell over with.

      "There was a mission," Ken said, a bitter edge in his voice.  He was so tired, and so cold, and so angry.  "My friends.  I… I lost them."

      "Not in the sense that they died," said Crawford, his eyes obtaining a little abstract glint, as if he was looking at something only he saw.

      Ken shook his head.  No.  They didn't die.  But would it have been better if they had…? He shook the thought away.  No.  As long as they were alive, something could be done.  As long as they were alive, it wasn't the end.

      "They were captured," Ken said, trying to calm down, "We all were, actually, except… they let me go.  They want me to give them Kritiker on a goddamn silver plate.  Kritiker in exchange for the lives of the rest of Weiß."

      Ken watched Brad's face.  He frowned.

      "I wouldn't do it if I were you."

      "Is that based on logic or premonition?" asked Ken, his brows creasing.

      "Both," Brad answered coolly.

      Ken stared at him.  "If I did what they asked, something terrible would happen."

      Brad shrugged.  "I have… visions.  And feelings based on these visions.  That's how I can tell the future.  But I don't see it as if I've lived it.  And I can't tell you exactly how it will happen, or for a certainty that it will.  It might still even change.  Anything you do today could affect how it all comes down in the end.  Then again, maybe anything you do today, even finding out about a future you can change, is part of your true fate, everything leading up to the end destined you by… whichever powers rule over us.  It's all pretty philosophical."

      Ken rubbed his eyes.  Brad was just talking and talking… 

      "Actually," Ken said with a sigh that seemed to draw all the life out of him; this was it, this was the end of yet another life, the beginning of yet another.  "It's practically a given that I would give them what they wanted.  No matter the consequences.  What I would want to know, is if they would hold true to their end of the bargain.  Are my friends still alive? And if they were, if I gave them Kritiker, would they be set free?"

      Brad rubbed his chin in thought.  It was interesting, indeed.  This young traitor, who himself seems to have been cheated by fate.  The last time Brad had a run-in with Ken Hidaka of Weiß, the youth had already been through nightmare after nightmare, and yet kept a shine in his fiery eyes.  His skin had a beautiful flush, his mind consumed by a passion.  Now… he just looked tired.  Body and soul tired.  He was pale, and drawn, he was much thinner, with his eyes clouded, rimmed in gray.  He wore clothes stained with dark-yellow spots of blood which had probably, partly been washed by the rain.  He seemed to be wearing the same clothes he had on since that fateful mission he had spoken of.

      "How long ago was this mission?" Brad asked, even as he thought about how this life has changed them, how this life was the slowest death, killing their passions one by one…

      Ken was wavering.  He rubbed at his eyes some more.  His voice shook as he answered.  "I don't know.  Two days.  Three.  Maybe four.  I don't know.  Does it matter?"  
      "Where were you all this time?" asked Brad.

      "They kept me for awhile," answered Ken, "I don't know for how long.  It was dark.  I was alone.  Then they told me about our deal.  I said Yes.  They let me go, and I looked for you."  
      Brad stared at Ken.  "If you hold up your end of the deal, they will keep theirs, and your friends will be free.  But if you betray Kritiker, you've never seen the kind of hell it would bring down on you."  
      Ken nodded.  Brad could see the decision in his eyes.  But the decision had been there, even before Ken had sought him out.

      "Is there no other alternative?" Brad asked.

      "I can storm there on my own," said Ken, laughing harshly, "except I don't know where they are, even if I don't have any qualms taking on an entire army"  
      "Seek help from Kritiker?" Brad suggested.

      "They don't negotiate," said Ken, "Nor rescue.  It's policy, under the logic that we are aware of the risks entailed by the job.  It's a bullshit hands-free Pontius Pilate thing.  And Kritiker doesn't bend for anybody."

      "You will raise hell by your decision," Brad reminded him.

      Ken got to his feet, wavered a little, but recovered by grabbing the arm of the sofa.  Brad pretended not to see, to let the other man keep his pride.  

      "What's new, eh?" Ken chuckled bitterly, the harsh cackle of it moving to become a deep, paralyzing coughing fit.  His lungs were burning, and the air felt so thin… He struggled for breath, wheezed as his lungs protested.  His vision turned, and narrowed, and dimmed.

      As he coughed, Crawford made his way to his side, knowing what would come next, and caught him cleanly before he hit the floor in an unconscious heap.  Crawford picked him up with ease—he was amazingly light, and almost disconcertingly frail—and laid him on the couch.

      He jerked awake, some time much later that same evening.  The rain was still pouring outside, and he was lying on Crawford's couch, still in his mission clothes, sweating from two layers of blankets.  All the lights were closed, save for a dim yellow lamp.  Crawford was on one knee by his head, cautious not to touch him, so as not to alarm him.  Crawford felt he might be disoriented.  And a disoriented assassin with instincts as honed as Hidaka's was a lethal one.

      "Do you know where you are?" asked Crawford, his quiet voice soothing.

      "I wish I could forget," Ken croaked, and cleared his throat.  His mind began to deduce what had happened to him, and he was profoundly embarrassed.  He felt the heat on his cheeks, and he made a move to sit up.

      Deliberately slowing his movements—Crawford didn't want Ken to mistakenly lash out at him in defense; after all, they had been enemies once—Crawford pushed him back down with one hand to his chest and put another to his forehead.

      "Your fever has already broken," said Crawford, "But you need to rest, or you will get a relapse.  And a relapse can be much more dangerous.  You also need to eat.  I was going to feed you except I feared you wouldn't be strong enough to hold it.  If you don't eat, you would need an IV soon.  How long since…?"

      Ken shook his head.  "I don't know.  Since before the mission."  
      Crawford frowned in disapproval.  "Well I don't know how to cook.  But I called in some deliveries some minutes ago.  It's cold now, but I didn't think you would be choosy."  
      He was right.  Ken had devoured what had been put in his way.  The food seemed to give him a renewed strength, especially when Crawford brought out the only thing he had from inside his certifiable- bachelor's-refrigerator: ice cream.

      When eating had been out of the way, and Ken could no longer use as his guise for not making conversation the fact that his mouth was full, he stared at Crawford, who was looking back at him.

      "Why?" Ken asked, plainly, simply.  Why do you help me? Why should you give a damn? Why you, why me…

      "I'm drawn to you," Crawford asked, just as simply, without a thought, "You asked about your future.  Now let me tell you about mine.  I don't know why.  But there is something about you, and my part in your life, that my visions say would complete me somehow.  Then, when you had come to me at the Carnival, as now.  Only before it was I who sought peace and found you.  Now it is you who seek peace and found me.  Maybe after this, the circle would end.  And we would both find what we are looking for.  Get what we both want."

      Ken wondered about that quietly for awhile, before standing up from the couch and steadying himself.  "I'd best be going."

      Crawford nodded in understanding, as he walked Ken to the door and silently forced an umbrella his way.

      Ken took it, hesitant, shy, but profoundly grateful.  "Thank you," he said softly, giving Crawford a ghost of a smile.

      "I'll see you soon," Crawford said coolly, making Ken wonder, the man being a pre-cognitive, if he said it just to be polite, or if he was already telling the future.

      She would put up a fight, he knew.

      As far as Kritiker was concerned, Weiß was dead.  As a matter of fact, the flower shop has been closed for days now, and Ken felt that a new set of replacements was soon to be on the way.  He preferred it that they did not know Weiß was alive, or specifically that he was let go.  It gave him more freedom to do what it was he intended to do.  

      There was no way that he, although computer literate, could do an Omi-thing and steal Kritiker's files.  He doubted if even Omi could pull it off unscathed.  Much less him.  But there was one other source of Kritiker's secrets that didn't involve electronics at all.  She had killer legs, a beautiful face and piercing eyes.  

      Manx.

      Secretive as the night, stealthy as its ghosts, Ken broke into the shop basement and stole one of few gadgets he did know how to use: a tracer.

      All of Weiß's communication links had tracers.  And it would have been extremely helpful for Ken to find out where his friends were being kept right now, if only the goons from that last mission hadn't grabbed and disposed of their commlinks.  

      So Ken dismantled one commlink, took the tiny tracing chip, and stuffed it inside a stick of bubble gum.  Then he put it in his pocket, and waited for her to come.

      And true enough, she did.

      Ken thought that perhaps Manx would come around some time eventually, to check if any of Weiß have returned.  And indeed, one of Kritiker's wayward sons was back.

      She stood by the door inside the darkened shop, and Ken grabbed her by the arm and pinned her to the floor.

      "Siberian--!" she exclaimed, her eyes puzzled, even as her body struggled.  She was strong, but he was stronger.  She was skilled, but he was better.  She was fighting for her life, and he was fighting for the lives of his friends.

      "This doesn't have to hurt," Ken said with gritted teeth as he pressed her harder to the floor.

      "You're crazy!" she hissed, not giving up, even though she knew for certain that eventually, she would lose.

      He straddled her back, one hand pinning her arms, the other holding her by the hair and pressing her head to the floor.

      "Stop moving, Manx," he said darkly, "shut up and do what I tell you, and we'll both get out of this alive."

      She stopped moving.  It always had been in her to find out the truth.  And no matter how much pissed at and afraid of Siberian she was at that moment, she listened.

      Ken's heart wrenched at the thought of this betrayal.  But he would do everything he could to end up winning this round with his anguished fate.

      "I need Kritiker information," Ken said.

      "Over my dead body," replied Manx flatly.

      "I thought you'd say that," said Ken, "they would never be able to break you.  But they will keep you alive, and then I can find you."

      "Who are they?" asked Manx.

      "They have Weiß," replied Ken, "and I'm supposed to give them Kritiker in exchange.  You are Kritiker, Manx, more than anyone or anything else.  Your head, your heart… it's better than any sort of database they can find.  You are the key, and you are the rope that holds it all together."

      "And I will be your sacrifice," she said coldly, "I will get you, Hidaka, if I get out of this alive.  You know that, don't you? I will get you, I promise I will.  You'd better wish I die at their hands."

      He unwrapped the gum with one hand as he held her with the other.  He stuffed the gum in her protesting mouth.

      "Eat it," he growled, and when she finally did, he put a hand to a pressure point in her neck to make her dizzy and to knock her out.

      "I'll come back for you," he vowed, "remember my promise."  
      "And remember mine," she murmured, collapsing against him.

      It was two nights later, that Ken was thinking about the layout of the enemy's HQ, which he had memorized, and glanced at the mini-computer he was going to bring that was tracking where Manx was.

      He put on his mission clothes, stifled the cough that had been plaguing him for days now.  Crawford had been right about that relapse.  He had wanted to be stronger by the time he had to rescue Manx, but he couldn't afford to wait any more…

      He breathed shakily, but the cough would not be suppressed, and it released itself in a hollow, dry hack that hurt his lungs and abdominals.

      He hoped he wouldn't give the flu to any of his friends, who were themselves recuperating.  The enemies who had captured the three made sure that, once reunited, Weiß would not be able to take up arms against them anytime soon.  These past two days, it was Ken who had hauled them all the way back home to the shop, prepared their meals, and made messy bandages for their wounds; it hadn't been his forte.  He checked them periodically, spent a sleepless night stressing about Ran, who sustained the worst of the injuries.

      Now, Ran was peacefully asleep.  Yoji and Omi were awake, as they had been that night that Ken had freed them, but more lucid now, although no one was yet to be up and about.

      Ken hoped that his friends would be well enough to help him mount a mission to rescue Manx, but time was running out and he was the only one standing.  Or at least, trying very hard to keep standing.

      He coughed again, propped his hands against a table.

      Secretly, though, he was glad that they were not yet well enough to help him.  At least this way, they may never find out about the betrayal that he had bought them with.  At least this way, they would never feel bad about what their lives had cost him.  At least this way, when Kritiker came after him, the rest of Weiß had plausible deniability.

      Steadying himself, he put on his bugnuks, clenched his fist to test the retraction, the smooth, crisp swoosh of it telling him that at least, his weapon was ready for this big battle.

      Ken headed for their garage, towards his bike except he had felt that someone was watching.

      His honed senses made him know precisely where to look, and sure enough, Yoji Kudou—Balinese, sat in the driver's seat of Ran's car, holding the wheel and smoking a cigarette between his teeth.

      "About time," Yoji said.

      "Where are you going?" asked Ken, a little irritably.  Damn.  This wasn't what he had in mind at all.

      Yoji cocked an eyebrow at him in irony, obviously implying that HE and not Ken, should be the one asking just that.

      "I've seen you mulling around," said Yoji, "saw you preparing and reviewing papers, like we do on a mission.  I awoke a little, when you watched over me in my room, as you worked.  You're not going to do it alone, Ken.  Whatever it is.  After all this time… I don't know what's going on, but I want to help you."

      Ken shook his head, coughed once, "You're not well enough to help me.  And it's not in your place, Yoji…"

      "Let me drive you at least," insisted Yoji, "I'll be your outer perimeter.  For god's sake, Ken, I won't even ask Why.  I don't know what kind of a mess you're in, but I know it's big.  Give me a little credit, I'm not going to let you get yourself killed."

      Ken rubbed his eyes.  "Christ, Yoj… Fine.  But you stay in the car.  No fucking funny business."

      Yoji actually grinned.  Ken made his way to the passenger seat, before he paused and remembered that this was Ran's car.

      Reading his expression, Yoji winked at him.  "It's as if we have him with us, eh?"

      Ken shook his head in dismay and amusement.  

      "You just don't want to damage YOUR car, Yoj."

      "I'll tell him it was your idea."

      "He won't believe you."

      They drove away.  Ken had missed company.  And not just any.  Ken had missed Weiß.  Tonight… tonight Yoji had reminded him precisely Why he did what he had done.  No one else may understand, but he had no doubts at all.

      Getting in was easy.

      What Ken had gathered from the Kritiker data from the time the mission had been first given to them to storm the compound a few minutes from the city was fixed to perfection, blended with his first-hand knowledge of the place from the time of his capture and when he had given up Manx.

      But Manx had been the main attraction here; she was a treasure to them, their most important prisoner.  Guarded like a queen.  Ken could not help but encounter the enemy, in a constant drove.  There was no other way to do it stealthily, and he took them head-on.

      By the time he was done, bloodied bodies littered the ground which seemed flooded with blood.  It was impossible that in the midst of this melee no one had the time to make a call for reinforcements; there had been so many of them and just one of him.

      He had precious little time.

      Drawing in his strength, snapping at his claws to gain momentum, he headed straight for the lock of the steel door, and pulled back after he had hit it.  Detracting his claws, he opened the door and peered inside.

      He knew it would be bad, he kept telling himself that he was supposed to know it would be bad, but he never thought he would find her like this.

      Unconscious in the corner, her body curled up in a loose ball of tattered clothes, and her skin a mass of blacks, blues, greens and reds.  

      Blinking at the tears in his eyes, he hardened his heart.  He was still in a mission, and both their lives depended on how strong he was.  Mentally and physically.  Mentally he has long since been wavering, and physically, his body was already protesting to the strain.  Adrenaline was keeping him going, but his illness was quickly catching up.

      He had precious little time, in more ways than one.

      He checked her vitals.  She too, was running out of time.

      He picked her up; she was light-- and taking a deep breath, he just ran himself to the ground, trying to get out of there.

      Ken could feel them at his heels.  Not in a physical sense, but he could feel the pressure mount as time progressed, and it seemed forever until he rounded a corner and could see the exit, at the end of a long corridor.  He found Yoji standing about halfway through the corridor, apparently not holding up to his end of the deal to stay in the car.

      Ken had no time to berate him, however, and the two of them ran towards the car together, and were almost to the mouth of the exit when gunshots whizzed over their heads.

      Ken looked behind him at the approaching group, then wordlessly passed Manx to Yoji, and plunged himself into battle once again.

      "Leave now!" Ken cried over the din of the battle, "I mean it, Balinese, I can handle this.  She doesn't have time."

      Yoji's eyes burned.  It was not in him… it was not in him at all to desert…

      "Go!" yelled Ken desperately, as he downed another man, "Go, goddamnitt, think of what she knows! GO!"

      Yoji turned from Ken, and his heart shattered. But he did as Ken so desperately wanted, and ran bearing Manx towards the car.  He laid her in the backseat and was about to return for battle when he felt a hand land on his shoulder.

      Instinctively, his hand shot out at the stranger to protect himself.  But the stranger caught his hand cleanly.

      Schwarz.

      God! He surely didn't need this now…

      "Do as Hidaka told you," Brad Crawford said flatly.

      "Are you behind all of this?" Yoji asked, gritting his teeth.

      "No," replied Crawford, "You don't have time.  He's keeping your back clean.  Leave now.  Do as he says."

      Yoji stared at him.  He had no idea what mess Ken had gotten himself into.  But clearly, the Schwarz man did, and it bothered him deeply.

      "If you go back there," said Crawford, "you won't be able to fight as you used to.  You would be a liability, Weiß.  Hidaka'll look after your ass because that's the kind of man that he is.  But you're going to get him killed.  And then you would follow shortly, and they would get her in the end.  In short, the survival of the three of you depends on whether or not you get in your goddamn car and leave."

      "Why should I trust you?" Yoji asked darkly.  His mind reeled.  The man was a pre-cog, and he would know all of these.  But they had been hardened enemies.  Why should he help me now…?

      "Because he did," Crawford answered, his eyes intent and as true as any Yoji had ever seen in his life…

      "I don't know what's going on…" Yoji's voice shook.

      "You will, eventually," said Crawford, "Now, however, you must leave.  Your friend will not be alone."

      Yoji jogged to the driver's seat.  Then he looked at Crawford curiously through the window.

      "You would return for him," Yoji said, searching the other man's eyes.  For the first time, Yoji saw him hesitate a little.

      "He's more like me now, Weiß," said Crawford finally, "than you.  He's as much ours now, as he had ever been yours.  There's no going back from some sins."

      Yoji felt Crawford was alluding to Manx.  But he remained completely lost and confused.  But no answers were forthcoming.

      "Tell Ken to come back to us," Yoji said softly.

      "I will," said Crawford, "but it would be up to him in the end."

      "And he's sick," added Yoji hastily, "make sure he doesn't leave it alone—"

      "Go now, Weiß," said Crawford, turning his back on Yoji, heading towards the building where Ken fought.

      When the fight had concluded, Ken was not altogether too surprised to see Crawford standing with him.

      "It's over," said Ken, huffing.

      "It never is," said Crawford.

      Ken covered his mouth and coughed.  "Would she live?"

      "Yes," said Crawford tightly, "and she will stay true to her god forsaken promise to you."

      Ken wasn't surprised that he knew about that too.  "Well," he said with a bitter chuckle, "I'm not a pre-cog and even I knew that.  But anyway, one way or another, dead is dead."

      "I wish it were that simple," said Crawford.

      "Do me a favor," said Ken wryly, "don't tell me about the future."

      "If we blew this place up," said Crawford, "We can throw them off, even for just a little while.  Make them think you've died."  
      "What does it matter," Ken sighed.

      Silence.

      The two of them walked towards the exit.

      "Kudou said to tell you to come back to them," Crawford informed him flatly.

      Ken waved it off.  He was exhausted.  And profoundly unhappy.  But he wasn't fool enough not to know that he could not go back there.  Because of his sins.  Because of his betrayal.  Because of the backlash he knew it would cause.  And if Manx and Kritiker went after him, he knew his friend would side with him, and just may lose their lives.  No.  He couldn't go back.  Not now.  Or not yet.  Or perhaps not ever.  

      He should have known, this being his life, that it would be a no-win situation.  Even after everything… he still lost Weiß.  He had nothing in the end.

      "You know what," said Ken, "I think it would be a good idea to blow this place up and make everyone think I've died."

      Crawford nodded.  

      Silence.

      "You have nowhere to go, after," said Crawford, "but my couch… it's all right, I mean.  You can crash."

      Ken looked at him.  He knew Crawford would offer.  Just as he knew that it wasn't necessarily because Crawford was a kind man.  But Crawford was a lonely man, who had suddenly found a kindred soul.

      "Thank you," said Ken softly, "I accept."

      Silence.

      "Do you feel complete now?" asked Ken.

      Crawford shook his head.  "I don't know… but I've already figured out that there was just one way to complete life, in the sense that I had truly wanted."  
      "How's that?" Ken asked.

      "You told me not to tell you the future," said Crawford cryptically.

      The building blew up.  Yoji told Manx, when she had regained consciousness in the hospital days later, that Ken was dead.

      She felt that he certainly believed it, but she felt in the darkest, bitterest corners of her hardened heart, that she could not rest until she saw the traitor dead and buried before her very eyes.

THE END

April 5, 2003

NOTES:

  
"Carnival" was written two years before "Illusions" and I was never really sure about making a sequel.  Either way, "Illusions" was eventually created, and of course, "Escape" had to follow J

  
  
   
    

        
    
  
  
      

        
      

        
   


	3. Escape

Author: Mirrordance

E-mail: mirror_dance@hotmail.com

Title: "Escape"

Type: sequel to Illusions and Carnival

Warnings: language, violence

Spoilers: with references to entire series

Teaser: Ken struggles to escape the consequences of his betrayal, but a greater danger than the problems of the heart looms over the world, and only an alliance with old and new friends, and old and new enemies can stop it  

Keywords: Ken, Weiß, Schwarz, angst, action

"Escape"

A WKff by Mirrordance

don't own anybody…

Ken's P.O.V. …

***********************************************************************
    
    I'm not crazy, I'm just a little unwell
    
    I know right now you can't tell
    
    But stay awhile and maybe then you'll see
    
    A different side of me

-"Unwell" by Matchbox Twenty

***********************************************************************

Montana, the United States of America

      "You look miserable."

      I turned away from the view of the rising sun, which turned everything it touched into gold; the infinite sky, the wide fields, the rolling hills, the sharp mountains… his skin, his eyes under his thin glasses, and turned to face the American.

      "The reverse, actually," I told him, hearing myself sigh, "I'm really very happy."  
      "And that makes you miserable," he said with finality, booking no arguments, "really, Hidaka, it's been more than a year.  I think I know your moping face by now."

      I snorted at him, and yet I wasn't really bugged at all.  No one could ruin this paradise.  Not him, not even me.

      "You shouldn't have to be miserable about being happy," he said.

      "You're not exactly Mr. Smiley Face yourself," I told him.

      He shrugged.  "You know what I'm talking about."

      And did I ever.  I still can't believe that ultimately, all my sins had brought me here.  Here, in this paradise at the end of it all.  As if I never did anything wrong in my life.  I never thought… I never thought that me, with all the blood on my hands, the lives I've taken, the betrayal… I never thought that I could be happy like this.  Here, where the Earth kissed the sky.  Where a man could be a part of Heaven.  I was happy.  But I knew I didn't deserve it.  And I was unhappy about being happy.  And yet nothing could hamper the beauty of this place, and I was happy still.  Which made me unhappy… and so on.  And hence, the Major Crackpot that is Me.  Some things never change, I suppose, no matter if I was in Tokyo or here in America.

      "I can run away anywhere," I said to him with a sad snicker, "as fast as anything.  But I can't get away from myself, and all the things that I regret."

      "But anyone can get away from anything here…" he said softly, "at least for awhile."

      "Cowboy Crawford," I teased him, as I did that first day we had flown into Montana, that Autumn more than a year ago.  

The state, with its beautiful rolling plains and prairies, the strong lines of the mountains that surrounded it, and that infinite sky… seemed as big as an entire country to me.  I've never seen so much open space.  I grew up in the big Tokyo city a lifetime away, where space was a luxury, and the strong lines had belonged to towering buildings.  My home had been beautiful, yes, but this was beautiful too, in a different way.

      "I knew you were American," I had said that day we arrived, "but I didn't know from where."

      "I'm not really a Montanan," he said coolly, "I made a home here because I liked it, after a visit."

      We stepped off the plane, and we rode a tough four-wheel-drive about an hour away from downtown.  The sun was rising then, as it was now, and the gold of the fields, the brilliance of the skies… had taken my breath away.  That very first day I arrived, I understood why he wanted so much to make a home here.  Where a man seemed so small in the midst of the wide open spaces, a finite part of the beautiful world.  Maybe in as big a place as this, my sins wouldn't be so big.  In this wide expanse of the world, I was just a little guy, full of little sins.  Negligible.  I couldn't possibly do anything monumentally wrong here, because I didn't matter as much as the trees, and the fields and the mountains.  Here, I could just forget.  And be forgotten.

      And with that, I made it my home.

      I had called him a cowboy because the stereotype of the Montanan had been the plaids and the denims.  Which, incidentally now consisted of my daily wardrobe, being undoubtedly most suitable to the lifestyle here, which meant that I had turned into Cowboy Ken myself.  Cowboy Crawford and Cowboy Ken.

      The pre-cog had even taught me to ride a horse.  The sadist took me to the stalls, and bought me the most tempestuous beast he could find. 

      I felt silly at first, but I guess it had grown on me.  Or I had grown into Brownie, this brat horse of mine who didn't really let just anyone boss him around.

      Every once in awhile, like this day, we would wake up just before dawn, ride out to the plains to watch the sun rise, and think about… well I don't know what Crawford thought about.  I thought about the life that I had left.  How my friends were.  If they really thought I was dead.  How work was.  The shop, the missions…  It seemed the most unlikely thing in the universe, that Crazy Ken would be here.  It almost seemed grossly unfair.  This place is too beautiful.  I feel like a snake in paradise.

      "Is that why you took me?" I asked him.

      "Hm?" he asked, seemingly forgetting the thread of our conversation.  I had no idea how much time had passed.  We just lived out our lives here.  No need to rush.  I doubt if we even had a clock or a watch at home…

      "You told me that anyone can get away from anything here," I said, "Is that why you took me here? To get me away from everything? And not just the guys who want me dead, mind."

      He smiled a little.  I've known that smile.  It had a lot of secrets.  I know they are dark, but Crawford smiled because that's the kind of man that he is.  Life was funny, trivial.  Ironic.

He doesn't have to tell me.  It's been past a year, when I had gotten into trouble and asked for his help, my old enemy.  I sold out Kritiker to save the lives of my friends.  Bought Kritiker back, except they hadn't been too happy with me.  Irony, irony.  Crawford and I staged my death, but they weren't that kind of an organization for nothing.  I felt my real death coming close, as they sniffed me out.  Closer and closer did they come.  And then Crawford says he has this place in Montana… and here we were.

"Let's just say," he said, "we both have things to run away from, eh? What do you think?"

"I've been asking you that for over a year," I said, "At this point, any answer is good enough.  And besides, we got time to find out the rest, don't we?"

"You told me not to tell you the future," he reminded me, of that time I had been bone-deep-exhausted and felt that the future showed no good news anyway.

There had been something in his eyes… it wasn't irony anymore.  Totally different.  Regret.  I think I've been in Weiß long enough to know how it looked.  I saw it in three versions, in varying degrees.  There had been Ran's stone cold version, Yoji's try-to-cover-it-up-with-a-joke version, and Omi's broken eyes.  Crawford's was totally different.  It was a regret without fire, or hope, not even anger.  

"I'm starting to change my mind about that," I said worriedly, "sometimes, if it's real big shit coming down, it's better to be prepared."

"If you can't do much about it," Crawford said with a grin—the bigger the smile, the bigger the bad news?—"It's better to not know about it at all."

"Burden of being a pre-cog?" I asked him, "all this foreknowledge? Do you change things? Do you accept them? Which things? How much is your responsibility, really?"

"I've finally realized," he said, "there isn't One Big Rule for everything that I see.  I do what I feel is right, when I feel it is right.  That way, I will not, and could not regret.  I knew this that time we had crossed paths at the Carnival."

We fell into a companionable silence.  Me, Crawford, Brownie, Crawford's fat old horse, and the Earth.  Even Brownie wasn't anxious.  Buster, on the other hand, the spotted old horse that Crawford totally doted on, had always been so placid.  I patted Brownie's neck, and he snorted at me.  He could be such a prick.

"Can you believe this?" I asked him, "you and me.  And this place.  After everything."

"You can't seem to stop marveling about that," he commented dryly, clearly implying Get Over It.

I shook my head.  "You told me, that time I had asked for your help, that if I betrayed Kritiker, I would not believe the kind of hell it would bring down on me.  And yet here, in this place… I'm here.  And its hardly hell at all."

"Hell unfolds slowly.  I was thinking past this," Crawford said.

"You surely think in the long range, don't you?" I asked him.  He didn't say anything, and that made me worry.  "Is it close, then? Have they come for me? You're trying to tell me something, damn it, and… you won't."

"All roads led to this, Ken," he said, which startled me a little because he seldom mentioned my name, "The only difference here, in this place, is that I chose where it would happen to me.  You had to run away from Kritiker.  I had to run away from a different danger.  Sooner or later, you're going to realize that for you and I, there is no escape.  There is just running.  And now… you will have to start running again."

"Wha—" I was just going to ask him what all of these cryptic things meant, when he made a hard slap on my crazy horse's hide, and Brownie, easily aggravated, stood on his hind legs and shot off running from the easy hill we had been watching the sunrise from, away towards wherever his fast legs took him.

"Crawford you bastaaaaard!" I yelled, as I struggled to stay on the saddle.  I had been riding for over a year, but Brownie, at an anxious run, could not be controlled, not even by more experienced riders.  Crawford knew this.  I'm going to break my neck if I fall.  I made a firmer grip on the reins.  "You a Kritiker agent, Brownie?" I muttered, "so why are you trying to kill me?"

I risked a glance behind me, thinking there had to be a good reason why Crawford would do such a thing.  Brownie ran fast, and whatever I saw just shrank and shrank as we speeded away from where we were.  But I had been reared as a Kritiker agent.  There was trouble, that was clear.  There were other men there, shadows just from where I was.  But Crawford was no longer alone.

I yanked at the reins, which made Brownie rise up on his hind legs again, and I muttered at him that he was going to be my dinner if he didn't start following orders.  Damn horse was smart enough to let me take control, and I rode him hard, back towards Crawford.  I heard gunshots, and I rode Brownie harder and harder.

By the time we had returned, the shadows had gone, and Crawford and his fat horse were both on the ground.  A ground soaked in blood.

The sight caught my breath.  There's no escaping, only running, he had said… and Crawford hadn't run fast enough.  He didn't even run at all, him and his beloved fat horse.  He gave me the fastest, idiot horse… he made it run… he knew, he knew all this would happen…

I jumped from Brownie even before he came to a complete stop, and fell to my knees beside Crawford, who was conscious but bleeding badly.  My mind ran through my options.  I could dash off in Brownie and ask for help.  But that would take ages.  I could pick him up and take him into town in Brownie, but I feared to move him…

"Damn you, Crawford," I muttered, as I removed one of my layer of clothes and tore it into strips, even as my mind raged, wondering where I would begin trying to staunch the bleeding.  There was just so much, there was nowhere to begin, there was just an ending in sight…

"You knew, damn you," I said, putting the cloth against what looked to be the worst injury, a gunshot to his stomach.

"Don't… bother," he said, his breathing was hitched, and deep, dark blood ran at the corners of his mouth.  This is bad.  This is really, very bad.

He is dying.  I knew that the moment I saw him.  And yet here I am, putting strips on wounds that wouldn't stop bleeding.  How could such a trim man bleed so much…?

I looked around, looked for Crawford's murders.  Is it safe? Part of me wished it weren't.  If they were here, I could vent out on them, even with my bare hands…

"they're gone," said Crawford, "they left…"

"They were after me, damn you," I said, my breath ragged, my anger raw, "why did you have to play the fucking hero?"

"No…" he said, "they were after me.  They've killed me, they left.  Listen to me, Ken, you don't listen, you never…"

I ran my bloodied hands through my hair, so much blood… how could I even think I could run away far enough…

He grabbed my hand, making me look at him.  His grip was strong, for a dying man.  His eyes, no longer hidden in the frames that had been tossed away in the melee, begged me to listen.

"All roads led to this," he struggled to say, "I knew that.  And I postponed my death long enough, and I chose this place to die.  That's all right.  This is what I wanted.  They were after me, Hidaka, not you.  At least, not yet.  But when they're done with Schwarz, they will go after Kritiker, do you understand that?"

My mind reeled with the things he was saying.  Who was They?

"But not all is lost," he said, his eyes starting to lose presence, his grip beginning to ebb, "You are here.  You can complete my life.  You can act on the future I see.  Before you, all I knew was the anguish of my helplessness, all I saw was the bleak future I would be too dead to change.  But you're here.  You know now.  You can change things.  Save Schwarz.  Save Weiß.  Save Kritiker.  Save the goddamn world."

I felt hot wet tracks of my tears on my cheeks, "Damnitt, Crawford.  This sounds so big.  I'm not anyone.  I wouldn't count on me if I were you…"

"Well," he said, sighing, his face no longer contorted by pain, his voice growing softer and softer as he slid closer and closer to his death, "you always needed someone to die for you, Ken… and from all of your rage and madness, good things can come too."

And at last, he stilled.

I reached over and closed his glazed eyes.  My hands shook, and for a goddamn assassin, that's pretty darn sad.  Then I rubbed at my own eyes.  How much of this could one man take? And they think I'm crazy for being crazy.  God…

My chest burned, my throat ached, with the weight of trying to keep myself from breaking.  But like my whole damn life, there was no escape.  And I let myself cry, until I felt I could not stop.  And then my ridiculous horse nudged my neck, offering a comfort I did not expect.  The damn beast actually feels sorry for me.

"Don't you dare start liking me now, boy," I told him, "you'd just end up in all sorts of trouble."

Like him, I wanted to say.  Just like the very dead Cowboy Crawford.  He said I needed people to die for me.  To feel that lust for vengeance, or that easy, powerful, mad hunger for blood and death.  There had been Kase.  And here is Cowboy Crawford.  I could be his bloodthirsty angel, yes, sure.  Those weren't hard shoes to keep returning to.  In truth, it was harder to tear myself away from it.  But he had left me no space to indulge in my anger's mortal rapture.  No time to cry.  No time to do anything but... what he had left me with.  This was larger than me.  This was beyond me.  I have to be more than a mad a killer.  I have to be… more…    

The sun was high up now.  I was wrong when I thought I couldn't spoil this paradise.  I could spoil anything rotten.  

First things first.

Crawford had been a good man, at the end.  He had been my reluctant friend, there.  When there was no one else.  And the world could press me, but there was time enough to lay him to the ground, in the earth he had loved.

Here, where the Earth kissed the sky.  Where a man could be a part of Heaven…

Beside the fat old horse he loved and died with.

I told the cops it must have been a hunting accident.  Bullets just came from everywhere.  They were skeptical, yes, but couldn't find anything to tie me down with.

I gave Brownie to a nice family.  I'll miss the bastard, but he'll have a home there.  And I… one way or another, I had a home to return to.

Crawford had left his property in my name.  As sure as I inherited his responsibilities to the future, it was just as if I've inherited all else in his life.  I now had a country house, and I had a vast expanse of land too, in this beautiful place.  But I couldn't stay, not yet. This life always was a sick joke.

I went downtown and withdrew some money from an old international bank account.  Omi would know that account, he arranged it for me.  Then I went to an internet café and dropped Weiß a message: Guess who's back.  That ought to be enough clues for them, and it would buy me just about enough time.

I used the money I withdrew to catch the quickest flight to Berlin, Germany.  If I got the sociopath telepath Schuldich, he could get me the rest of Schwarz.

Berlin, Germany

I woke from a dream that had made my heart race but I could not remember what it was.  I jerked awake, and calmed myself.  A pleasant stewardess had shaken me, and I was relieved that I hadn't struck her by pure reflex.  I was an assassin, for god's sake.  People weren't supposed to do that to me.

"You must put your seat belt on now, sir," she said with a smile, "we are about to land."

"Oh," I tried to give her a smile, but it felt more like a wince, "Thank you."

"Welcome to Berlin," she said, before walking off to check on other passengers.

Berlin, eh? I was so hell-bent on getting here I forgot that Germany is a pretty big damn country.  Where do you start looking for a madman whom Kritiker, with all of its resources and connections, could not find?

*You make him find you, Weiß kitty,* replied this silky voice in my head.  I shouldn't have doubted…

*You know,* Schuldich continued, speaking straight to my mind as our plane lowered, *your dreams ought to have an r-rating.  For violence, you know*

*I have to talk to you,* I told him with my mind.

*I know*

*Crawford is dead,* I told him.

*I saw it in your head*

*Don't go sifting around in there,* I told him, feeling annoyed and very much violated.

*I know, it's a dangerous place,* he said wryly, *I almost got as lost inside your head as you are.*

I sent him a mental snort.

*So did you kill him?* 

*No,* I replied, *You're in my head, for crying out loud, you know it's true, you can go look for yourself.*

*Is that an invitation?*

*No, goddamnitt,* I sent him a growl with my thoughts.

He paused.

*Well, Weiß,* he said, *I think I'll give you a shot.  I'll be at the airport waiting for you.  I felt you and your r-rated dreams the moment you hit my airspace.  Happy landing* 

***

Sure enough, he was there.  

Carrot-colored hair on a loose tail, his light coat in expensive-looking distressed leather, over faded Levi's.  Grinning at me like the lunatic that he is.

"We don't have much time," I told him at once, "Crawford said someone is after all of us."

Schuldich shrugged, and I don't know if he really was unfazed or was just trying to irritate me.

"I felt them mulling around," he said casually, "really though.  Brad shouldn't have gotten into such a fix."

I watched him.  Some sadness there.

He caught my eye.  "Don't even think about it, kitty."

"Listen, Schwarz, I'll get straight to the point," I told him, "frankly, I don't care if they get you or not.  I wanted to get you, for crying out loud.  But there's a bigger picture here.  And I don't know what to do about it, until you help me piece it together."

He looked at me, measuring.  I can feel the tendrils of his mind, probing mine.  I thought of stopping him.  But my instincts let him have his fill.  

"Crawford is crazy," he said at last, "if he thinks we could stop what is going on."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"It's not safe here," he said, "everything has ears."

Easily, he slid towards speaking to me inside my mind.

*The name of the project was Prometheus*

"How is your background of Greek mythology holding up, Jock?" he asked me out loud.

*Don't gimme a hard time, just spill,* I thought, *Prometheus.  Les'see.  Young titan.  Introduced fire to humanity, punished by Zeus.  Yeah.  What does that have to do with everything?*

*Just like the myth,* said Schuldich, *Prometheus is often associated with life-giving, revolutionary.  Some renegade scientists from a U.S.-based, federally-funded group threw away the rule book and took the already-banned cloning a step further, creating genetically enhanced humans.  Unfortunately, their project suffered the same fate of their namesake.  Punished by the gods, so to speak.  CIA finds out, government quietly pulls out the plug.  Now you got these kids with crazy powers running around.  A mass execution was ordered out.  But they were cute wide-eyed kids around this time.  Most were killed, but it's not hard to believe a few were spared by some soft-hearted, idealistic CIA-men.  But those kids have already seen the worst of the world, when their friends had been killed one after the other.  Not exactly what would result in E.Q., if you know what I mean.  Now they are older, they find things out, they want revenge, they want to take over the goddamn world.  Not a hard train of thought to grasp, is it?*

*When did all this happen?* I asked, feeling a headache, *Where was Kritiker? Where was everybody?*

*This was before our time,* said Schuldich, *Kritiker, and our own god-forsaken Esset had been occupied with other things.  Otherwise, we would have off-ed them ourselves.  To eliminate the competition, I mean.  For the world, you know, all that.*  

I rolled my eyes at him.  *Great.  And where did Crazy Cowboy Crawford think I fitted in all this? We're talking about… well… people like you.*

*Crawford is crazy, yes,* said Sculdich, *But not stupid.  You're being a bitch, Hidaka, for making me say this.  But you know as well as I do that you did a good job holding us back.  Held us back long enough until we figured you're more stupid and stubborn than we were, and we finally quit trying to take over this god-forsaken world.  The Prometheus kids have the power.  But no, not the skill.  We have the skill, Weiß and Schwarz.  You, Weiß, have the relentless stupidity we need at times like these.  I don't know about the Cowboy part.*

*How long have you known this?* I asked.

*Long enough,* he answered, *I could feel them at my heels, hear their thoughts.  The Prometheus kids are actually not kids anymore, but anyway, they all got together, formed a little organization, swayed in some ambitious world powers… They were going to kill off Schwarz one by one.  They thought that, because we were like them, we had the strength enough to fight.  And that since we had the same desires, we were dangerous and impossible to make an alliance with.  They are doing to us what we would have done to them, years ago if we only knew.  Getting rid of the competition.  I've been quiet these past years, damn it, can't they leave a man alone? I have no inclination to join or fight them.  I just know that when they come after me, I can look after myself.  And then here you are, drawing me back into that other life.*

I sighed.  *Yup.  Here I am.*

*They'll get Kritiker next,* said Schuldich, *Surely the pretty Manx is starting to sweat.  I hear things have been getting out of hand.  She has been distracted.*

I had to wince.  Yes.  All this was bad enough, without things getting further out of hand because Manx, Kritiker's very soul, must have been preoccupied trying to bury my sorry ass, exhausting Kritiker resources that should have been focused elsewhere.  God.  Crawford had been right.  This hell unfolded slowly.  It was all happening while I had been in Montana.  It's all my goddamn fault.

*Don't worry about it,* said Schuldich, easily reading my thoughts, *Man can screw himself up all sorts of ways without your help, Weiß.*

Montana, the United States of America

      "What fucking day is it?" were the first words I felt leaving my mouth when I woke up in another plane, another person shaking me awake, and it was all so much like that other day, not more than a day ago, but I'm not really so sure because days got muddled up in all my jet-setting.  But it was Schuldich, not the stewardess this time.  Schuldich.  Of Schwarz.  Schuldich of Schwarz shook me awake.  My old enemy.  Who had, in fairness, been an excellent seatmate for the plane ride back to America.  Didn't snore.  Didn't even sleep, I think.  Didn't talk too much.  And didn't swim around much in my head either.

      "We're landing," he said.  Schuldich looked pensive, and I know he read my mind because he hid it with a sly grin.

      "Would you want to…" I hesitated, "Would you want to go where I laid him to rest?"  
      His brow creased.

      "What are you thinking?" I asked, as I put on my seatbelt, glanced if he had secured his.  Didn't want him breaking his neck or something, when battle felt so near.

      He narrowed his eyes at me, though I did not feel the presence of his mind inside mine.  Reading my face, reading my eyes.  Well.  At least he's not cheating.

      "Tell me something, Weiß," he said, and I knew he was going to skip the subject, "Why do you ask me questions and expect to hear the truth? Each time, expecting the truth.  I can read your mind, but you can't read mine.  Is it that you trust so easily?"

      "I don't trust easily," I said with a smirk, "I have no one else to trust, and nothing else to lose.  That leaves nothing to hold me back.  No other options."

      "Trust by default," he grinned, "Well."

      "And I got to know Crawford," I added quietly, "Maybe you're not so bad, eh?"

      His eyes softened, but he kept his sly grin.  "Yeah.  He can be a stuffy prick though."

      "How about you?" I asked, "You can read my mind, yes.  And Crawford knew me from looking in the future.  But I felt, that even if you or him had been without it, I had been trusted.  By him.  By you.  Why?" I borrowed and extended his question, "Is it that you trust so easily? Or is it that you didn't have anything to fear from me?"

      The plane slanted.  

      "Well," grunted Schuldich, "I'm pretty sure I don't trust easy.  Let's just say I had nothing better to do, eh?" he chuckled, "And besides, it's really hard not to trust the so-called good guys when they are on hero mode, if you know what I mean.  I must say it must be getting contagious."

      "What's getting contagious?" I asked.  The thing about the hero embarrassed me.  That was hardly what I was.  I'm the cause of all this bullshit going down.

      "All this self-sacrificing for the sake of the world bit," he said with a wry face, "You got Crawford into it.  And I'm starting to think that maybe I'm not in this just to stay alive myself anymore."

      "Ken!" Omi had yelled, grinning as he soared from his seat by the fireplace and almost crashed right into me the moment I opened the door to enter.  He gave me a hug, found Schuldich behind me grinning menacingly, and immediately fell to a fighting stance.  "Schwarz!"

      "Take it easy, Omi," I said, grinning, "he's with me."

      "You could have told us where you were and saved us all the trouble," Yoji said to me, trying to look unfazed as I stepped into Crawford's cottage with Schuldich in tow, Omi watching his every move.  I told the German to stay behind me, in case he was met with unfriendly friendly fire.  We knew Weiß was already there when we saw all the lights as we drove towards the house.  

      The cottage was already warmed by the big fireplace in the homey living room.  It was a relief to be out of the cold.  Winter was coming soon, and the winds of late Autumn were chillier and faster.  

      My heart had jumped at the idea of us all being together again, and the fireplace hadn't warmed me as much as the sight of Yoji, Omi and Ran, right here, right here in the paradise Crawford had given me.  Ran stood ominously in one corner of the room, impervious, as always.  But he nodded at me when I caught his eye.      

      "Hello guys," I said, trying to keep myself from running over and giving them all a hug.  I felt that our eyes were glistening and dancing.  Even Ran, for all his brooding.  

      "Well talk about shacking up with the enemy," an unfamiliar voice said.  I turned towards the stairs leading to the bedrooms above, and found… twins.  Two men of about my age, both with shagging ash-blonde hair and keen glacial blue eyes.

      "I told you to not say anything until I introduced you, goddamnit," Yoji growled at them.

      "You told him," the twin who had spoken earlier pointed to his quiet brother, "Not me."

      "Stop being a wise-ass," said Yoji through his teeth, "Ken.  This is Marco and Ivan.  Obviously, twins.  You'll be able to tell them apart after three minutes.  Marco is the really noisy one.  Ivan is called the Lynx.  Marco is called Tigon.  A Tigon is a half-breed cat.  It's for Marco because he can really be a bastard."

      I swallowed a laugh, because Marco didn't look like he was in the mood for any bullshit.  "Hi.  Um.  This is Schuldich."

      "We know about Schwarz," said Ivan tentatively, "It was also a Schwarz man who owned this place, before he had given it to you." He looked at Omi plaintively.  There was a story here…

      "They have been with us for a little over a year," Omi explained, his eyes watering a little at the memory, "when we thought you were dead.  Kritiker gave us replacements."

      "And nannies, mind you," added Marco, "Kritiker wanted to make sure they would be informed in case the traitorous, dead-but-never-dead-enough Siberian made contact with the miserable Weiß.  I've heard rumors, Hidaka, but really, one of these days, you ought to tell us what you did that made the once-impervious Manx riled up so bad."

      "Kritiker knows I'm here?" I asked them slowly.  That meant I could be dead really very soon…

      "We managed to convince them to wait a little while," said Omi, "to at least, find out for themselves why you had finally decided to make yourself known."

      "Convinced him," Marco said, pointing to his brother, "not me."

      Ivan cringed a little, but met my eyes evenly.  He was the less impulsive of the two, and managed to convince his brother.  Marco needed a damn leash.

      "You know about Prometheus?" I asked them.

      Marco's jaw tightened.

      "What Prometheus?" murmured Ran.

      "We're Prometheus," said Ivan quietly.

      Now my jaw tightened.  What a fucking mess.

      "Say that again," I told him slowly, "Are you telling me you guys are scattered all over the damn world?" 

      "We were part of Project Prometheus," said Ivan, "Marco and I.  A man from the CIA, he said he had kids.  He let our whole dorm room go, that night the troupe had stormed in and started to execute everybody.  There were eight of us.  Marco and I got into an orphanage, went to good parents.  They were Kritiker too.  Of the less active foreign intelligence branch.  They knew who we were.  Kritiker wanted a piece of the genetically-superior kids, but couldn't get a handle on anyone else but the two of us.  Eventually, the rest was just forgotten, lost in the sea of normal life.  Mom and dad took us in because it was made their duty, and they were great agents.  But they made even better parents.  We grew up in America but now here we are, Kritiker, just like them."

      "Have your buddies contacted you?" Schuldich asked, "they're planning to take their revenge on the whole bloody world, did you know?"  
      "Yes," said Marco, "we were contacted, naturally.  But we're Kritiker now.  They promised us we would regret it.  Kritiker knows there's a plan.  We told them.  But they found out a little too late, I think.  The Project Prometheus kids… I guess no one thought they would come together like this."

      "Back up," said Omi, "What the heck is going on here?"

      I explained to them about the project from years ago, about the problems they are causing now, about how I got into the middle of everything after Crawford told me about his visions.  I told them about Crawford's death, which made Schuldich stiffen a little, beside me.  He saw it in my head, I knew, but we've never spoken aloud of it, and I guess that creates a different kind of reality too.  I also told them that Schwarz and Weiß have to work together now, and if it could be done, Kritiker-sanctioned too.

      "No can do," Marco said, shaking his head, "We're already out on a limb here, talking with you.  Much less working with you.  Orders for Siberian are shoot-to-kill…" he glanced at the other Weiß.  Well.  Of course they hadn't been told that.  "The same goes for Schwarz," he continued, "This isn't possible."

      I ran my hands through my hair, "Knowing what you know, do you really have to fucking tell them anything right now?"

      Marco's jaw was set again.  He glanced at Ivan.

      Ivan opened his palms, smiled a little although his forehead creased.  He was giving me the space I was asking for.  I nodded at him, then glanced at Ran.

      "Is Weiß in?" I asked.

      "We hardly have a choice," said Yoji wryly, "They're going to come after us eventually anyway.  Might as well grab the big guns, eh?"

      I grinned at him, suddenly realizing that I didn't have any idea what to do next.  In Weiß, I never really was the thinker in the sense that I initiated action, planned things, etc.  I hadn't really been a leader.  This was an awkward place to stand.

      "We'll have to get the rest of Schwarz," I said tentatively, looking at Schuldich.

      "All but done," he answered coolly, "I contacted Farfello and Nagi.  They could fly over on their own.  Unless you feel that they would need company?"

      I frowned.  I wished everyone would stop turning to me for what to do.  Point me in the right direction and I'll kill someone for you, but I can't do this.  

      "You know them best," I told him, "What do you think?"

      Whew.  Not bad, Hidaka.  Good save!

      Schuldich shrugged.  "Prometheus got Crawford.  They could very well get the rest of us."

      I nodded.  Ho-kay.  Now who goes where?

      "If you're Prometheus," I said to the twins, "You can do things that are beyond current human capacity.  I want to know what they are."

      Ran, Yoji and Omi turned to the twins too.  Apparently, they didn't know either.  The twins must have used a more trained method in the missions they have had with Weiß.

      "I create concussive blasts," said Ivan, whom I now regard as the twin to look to when you're looking for logical answers, "you know.  This massive invisible force, like the kind that comes when a bomb explodes.  Marco has inhuman speed."

      "I got the wimpy power," Marco added glumly.

      I nodded, thought things over.  "I'm not sure," I disclaimed at once, "but I think Schuldich ought to go to Ireland to get Farfello.  You can keep him from being combative.  Ivan, you go with them if you want to make sure there isn't any funny business going on.  And if Farfello does get combative, you can keep him at bay, with your powers.  Marco, you go get Nagi in Tokyo.  Nagi can keep you at bay if you get combative," I said.  He scowled at me.  "Um… Yo-tan.  Go to Tokyo.  You keep everyone from trying kill each other, eh?"

       "I'm a babysitter," he said wryly, although his eyes were dancing, and I felt his approval warm me and make me stronger.  

      "I'll book the tickets," Omi said with a grin.

      Things were moving very quickly, now.  As early as that very day, Omi had found Yoji and Marco a flight to Tokyo, and Schuldich and Ivan a flight to Ireland early the next day.  After we had brought them to the airport, Ran and I drove back to the house, just as the sun was waking up over the horizon.

      "You know why I wanted you to stay here, don't you?" I asked him, "I honestly don't know what to do, Ran.  I feel things getting bigger and bigger.  People are turning to me for answers that I don't have.  I was just supposed to bring people together, the link, you know, but I did not know I was supposed point them in the direction they are supposed to go.  This isn't my line.  Bossing other people around had always been your forte."

      I watched the nuance of his little repressed smile with pleasure.  It might not have looked like anything to anyone, but I knew him long enough to know it was there.

      "You made good calls," he said firmly, "Lynx is level-headed, he can keep himself from gutting the crazy Irishman.  Schuldich is smart.  He won't try anything stupid.  Tigon is more impulsive, very irreverent, but he's starting to understand the game.  Nagi Noe is like a lost child.  Balinese has a strong, old spirit, he can tie them together.  Of course, Bombay stays also to gather information.  I couldn't have done better.  As a matter of fact, it seems I'm the only one useless as of now."

      I rubbed at my eyes.  "I'm afraid of making mistakes."

      Silence.  I turned and watched his face.  Set in ivory, with the flaming red of his hair burning greater and greater, as the sun rose and shone over the hills.

      "We will always make mistakes," he said, "We just have to get up after.  Nine lives.  Maybe more.  No one can keep a good man down.  And we are good men, you ought to know that by now.  Even with our sins… I think I know, what you had done with Manx.  Your betrayal has bought back my life, and Yoji's and Omi's.  And here we are, even Manx with all her anger, we are all alive.  We just… get up."

      I stared at him.  Things have changed.  It's the most I've heard Ran talk at one time.  Or maybe he was putting together all of the quick sentences that he had missed giving me in a year, that's the only reason why it had come at such a load.

      "I didn't really think you were dead," he said quietly, "but I never thought I would get to see you again.  I'm glad I did.  But I'm even happier, and more surprised to find you like this."

      "Like what?" I asked, chuckling nervously.  Was it a bad thing?

      "To see you have finally grown into yourself," he said wistfully, "You've channeled your angers.  After this, I bet you could live in your own skin."

      "If there is anything after this," I said, "Six men, Ran.  Six who are just as powerful as Schwarz.  Backed up by geopolitics.  I don't know why we even bother."

      "We can think about our next move when we get to the house," said Ran coolly, "Omi would have something by now."

      "Yeah," I agreed, "he's sick, you know.  Damn obsessive compulsive.  He wouldn't sleep a wink last night until he broke through some information.  Well.  It's a pretty early day.  Let him sleep a few hours.  You get some rest yourself.  Um.  I have to go find my bugnuks…" my voice trailed.  Ran would not be pleased with me.

      "Find them?" he repeated neutrally.

      "I buried them," I said sheepishly, "Unmarked.  I forgot where.  I was fine with running from Kritiker.  I just didn't want to have to use them again."

      Silence.  I tried to read his face.  But it was carefully composed.

      "We'll park the car," he said, "and then we will go find shovels."

      I grinned at him.  I really, truly missed these guys.

      About a thousand potholes later, we finally found my bugnuks.  Omi thought it looked like fun, so those breaks he had from working, he joined me and Ran out on the now-snowy fields.  We even had time enough to make a ridiculous snowman, and gang up against Ran in a snowball fight before the rest of our rag-tag team returned one morning, three days after they had left.

      There had been some injuries that didn't need tending to as much as they needed explaining.  

      Omi, Ran and I trudged back into the house in our snow-covered clothes as we saw the cars pulling up into the drive.

      "You look like you went through a battle," Yoji commented, and I smiled at him guiltily.  Not the kind of battle he looked like he went through though.  He had some bruises and gashes on his neck, some lighter ones on his face.  The rest of the Tokyo group didn't look any better.  Marco had a glaring black-eye, and Nagi Noe moved stiffly, as if his body ached.

      Marco looked to Ivan.  "They sent us some goons with guns, headed by Alexandra.  And to think you used to have a thing for her."

      Ivan reddened, but let the comment pass.  He himself was limping along.  Farfello and Schuldich didn't show any signs of having been hurt, but then again, they never really did.  

      "Alexandra has feral qualities," explained Ivan, "now there is a real cat.  We had to deal with goons as well, led by Nichos.  We used to call him the Giant.  He is strong and practically invulnerable.  In the end, we beat him in the running.  He never could run fast enough.  If they knew we would be along, I know they would have sent more troops."

      "They're probably regrouping right now," said Schuldich, "wondering what to do about the miserable lot of us.  This lull can't last for very long.  You can bet they're gonna hunt us all down.  They will also probably make a very big move soon.  We pose a threat.  They will probably move their timetable forward."

      "You say there are eight of you," said Omi, "who had been released by the CIA man?"

      "Yup," replied Marco, "I don't know if any of them had released others.  We didn't stick around for the execution."

      He said it matter-of-factly, but there was some bitterness there, which I was loathe to disagree to.  In effect, those kids had paid for crimes which hadn't been their own, all for the sake of security.  I think that instead of execution, attempts should have been made to integrate them into society.  I mean, Ivan and Marco turned out all right.  The others could have too.

      "Omi," I said, "could you get information on those CIA men? We're going to want to know if we are dealing with more than we originally thought.  Marco.  Ivan.  Who are the rest of the eight?"

      "Dino moves and stings like a scorpion," said Marco, "Nena the babe is a telepathic and a telekinetic.  She can do all sorts of great things in your dreams but I won't get into that.  Um.  There's Sarah.  She can control radio signals, sound waves, you know.  In a force that could shatter not only your ear drums, but your internal organs.  Kind of like Ivan's thingamajig, but with a really annoying sound, almost as annoying as her voice.   Then there's Chase.  Anything that has to do with fire, he's your man.  He can burn you, he can boil you, hell, he can even bake you.  You can probably call him the devil incarnate.  And that's not just because of his powers, lemme tell 'ya, he's a mean son-of-a-bitch.  He's a pyromaniac—I mean, a pyrokinetic.  Who happens to be a maniac.  Besides what powers we have, they may have also trained for combat, like our parents got us into.  Ivan has the tonfa, I have the sai. Their training could have further enhanced what potential they already had."

      Omi turned to us from his laptop.  "Hm.  I'm not really so surprised.  All the men involved in that mission are dead now.  Freak accidents, just these past two years.  Fires, strokes, strange accidents… all but one."  He turned the screen towards us.  "Is this your CIA savior?"

      "Yes," Ivan said at once, the face of the twins had looked awed at the sight of the man on the screen, "That is him.  The fact that he is the only one alive right now… must mean that he is the only one who freed any of the Prometheus kids because he is the only one spared their vindictive wrath."

      "At least that eliminates the possibility of even more of you locos running around," Yoji said to Marco and Ivan, "No offense."

      Marco bared his teeth at Yoji.

      I looked toward Ran.  Now where do we start?

      "So the basic plan is that they're taking over the world," I said slowly, "can we get a handle on precisely how they plan to do that?"

      "Their systems are very good," said Omi, "It would take me a lot of time to get in deep enough.  One can only surmise, right now.  But I do know where things are going down.  All these shipments, all this activity in an island off the coast of Alaska."

      Alaska, Alaska… what was there that the rest of the world didn't have? How am I supposed to know? We need Kritiker… Omi is a genius, he really is, he knows more than I could possibly ever hope to know in my lifetime… but Kritiker's information base spans generations, and human resource so rich they had a thousand Omi's in there…

      "There are people outside," said Schuldich plainly.

      I hadn't even completely processed what he said when the glass windows of the living room exploded inward with the intrusion of armed and dark-clad men, and more of them streamed into the room from up the stairs, the kitchen, the dining room.  In mere seconds, we were completely surrounded.

      I poised for battle.  My damned bugnuks were not with me, but hell if I was just going to stand around and let them rip me apart.  We weren't even sure if this was Kritiker, who had found me at last, or Prometheus.  I tensed.  They surrounded us with pointed guns but made no move to attack.  The rest of our rag-tag team prepared for battle as well.

      The sea of black men parted, like magic, as Manx stepped from behind them, with her eyes steely and glowing.  In her presence, guns have been withdrawn.

      "You two," she said to Ivan and Marco, "will hear from me later."

      To me, she said icily, "Hello, Siberian," and held a silver revolver to rest its cold tip on the center of my forehead.

***

      "Manx," I said evenly, meeting her eyes.  Well.  This is it.  I brought them together.  I've done my part.  I've done my duty by Crawford, and to the world.  That ought to cut down my headed-to-hell list of atrocities by now.

      Except the crazy Fujimiya wouldn't leave it alone, and suddenly there was the very shiny, fine blade of a katana against Manx's just as fine throat.  She stiffened considerably, and guns were drawn again, pointed Ran's way.

      "Ran," I growled at him, but he was oblivious to me.

      "Put that blasted thing down, Fujimiya," she snapped, "Or else—"

      "Or else you'll have me killed too?" he snapped back, "and those of us left would fight you, and you'd kill them too, and you'd just kill everybody?  Don't be a fool, Manx.  This is bigger than you, or me and all your rage and anger.  You ought to know that by now.  Stop playing the goddamn fool."

      Her jaw was set.  She hated my guts enough to still want to pull that trigger, even with all the sense of what Ran had said.  But she wasn't just a human.  She was Kritiker too.  She understood what was necessary.  

      "When this is all over," she said to me, "I'll get you."

      "I wouldn't be so optimistic," I said under my breath.

      Manx let her gun rest at her side.  Ran withdrew his katana, and the guns around us were hidden from sight as well.  There seemed to be a quiet, collective sigh of relief in the room, except for Farfello, who managed to catch my eye.  He looked disappointed that things had been solved relatively diplomatically. 

      We were out of coffee.

      The rest of the day had been long and tiring, and the house was filled to the brim.  Manx's troop had set up camp outside, although a sizeable part of her ops team had stayed in the house and made an HQ out of the living room.  Before any more information was made available, we were asked to just slack around, get ready for the big gig.  Nagi and Omi, however, had been hijacked and the two brainiacs piloted two computers.  The rest of us milled around the property.  I hung around the kitchen, and watched in amusement from the window, seated at one of the counters, as the twins sparred just outside the kitchen.

      The clouds were already darkening, but the sun refused to go out without a bang, and was beautiful and strong even in the gray winter.  

      Marco was, of course, much faster as he attacked his brother with impressive accuracy and skill of the twin sais he held.  Ivan, for all of his human-caliber speed, and the leg injury he had sustained from the encounter with Nichos, parried more than fairly with his pair of tonfas.  So that's what they are officially called.  I told Ivan earlier that his weapons looked like a cop's baton, a 20-inch long, slim wooden stick with a short handle sticking out at a 90 degree angle.  Like a makeshift, child's play-rifle.  He said that the tonfa was a weapon of Kobujitsu, an Okinawan martial art of weapons fighting, and was precisely the source of the cop's baton because it was highly efficient even without proper training, and even more effective with.  Their sparring was like a beautiful dance.  Attacking and parrying, one man looking like the other, against the gray of the winter and the dimming of the sun.

      But Marco was too fast.  And with a laugh, Ivan threw his twin off with a concussive blast that had him hit hard enough to push him a couple of meters away.

      "No fair!" Marco yelled, "No using of powers, you said!"  
      "But you were using yours," laughed Ivan, "You've been using yours since we began!"

      "Was not!"

      "Was too!"

      "Was not!"

      Ivan stopped arguing and looked at him knowingly.

      "All right, all right," grinned Marco, "So I was.  But I can't help it, could I?"

      "Yes you could," argued Ivan.

      "Could not!"

      "Could too!"

      "Could not!"

      "Could too!"

      I felt Yoji come over and watch the charming scene beside me.

      "When they argue like that," he frowned, "They're both noisy enough such that you really can't tell them apart."

      Omi suddenly came up from behind us and took a slug off Yoji's coffee cup, one of the last cups around.  

"Hey!" exclaimed Yoji, but it was too late.  Omi had downed the last of Yoji's special brew.

"Kind of like when you two used to argue back at the shop," he said cheerfully as he walked away, back to his work area.

"We were never that noisy," I said to Yoji.

"Were too!" Yoji said with a wink.

I laughed, and looked toward the direction in which Omi had left.  Back to the living room, back to where men worked to get very valuable information that could cost us our lives.

"How soon do you think," I asked Yoji, "before they have anything enough to send us out?"

Yoji shrugged.  "As long as we get Prometheus before they get us, that would be soon enough for me."

"I'm getting restless," I admitted.

"We all are," said Yoji.

"And I may be out of shape," I said sheepishly, "I haven't touched my weapon in more than a year."

"You've acquired other weapons since," he told me.

I groaned.  "You're going to give me a lecture that Ran already gave me.  I don't need constant reinforcement, Yoj."

He shrugged.  "We can't help it.  It's impressive, Kenken.  You were on the brink.  I know, man.  I saw.  And now here you are.  No less broken, but more… I don't know.  Strong.  You make me proud of you."  He grinned, and I know the precise moment he saw me redden when his eyes twinkled and teased.

"You're embarrassing me," I growled, "I'm just glad Manx and Kritiker are here.  I wouldn't have to make up answers as we go along."

"You sell yourself short," he said, "you always have.  In a way, I'm jealous of Crawford.  That he had helped make you into things that I couldn't."

"You made me into other things that he didn't," I told him wryly, "I have a much-improved alcohol capacity, I have way-better pick-up lines…"

"Stop," he said mock-seriously, "You make me sound like a bloody saint."

"Seriously though," I said, "You did.  In more ways than one."

"Now you're embarrassing me," he said, but he grinned like a loon.  The two of us were very potentially surely dead, given the situation of the world.  But for now, we had ourselves and the brotherhood that we shared.  It contented me.

"That's too damn slow!" said Farfello, as the two of us clashed in the snowy yard, early the next morning.  I should have known who to ask to spar with.  The eye unhidden by a patch had glinted menacingly, and for a moment, I wondered if he would end up killing me by accident.  Accident meaning, a desire he could not contain.  The intent to kill was already a given, for Farfello.  I disclaimed any failure I might have and told him I haven't fought in so long, but I should have known he wouldn't go easy on me. 

I grunted and renewed my assault.  I felt sluggish, but strong.  I haven't fought in more than a year, and for all of Farfello's bloodlust, I still managed to stay on my feet and that wasn't half-bad at all.  

He laughed with glee.  "Oh, better… oh, that's much better… oh that's really very very good…"

I paused from my assault and jumped back.  "If you don't stop making it sound so disgustingly orgasmic, I'm going to stop this right now and walk back into the house."

"I'm going to follow you," he said, "and fight you wherever you go anyway."

I rolled my eyes at him and pressed on.  It felt good to be moving like this again.  After a few minutes, it was like muscle memory.  I moved as if I had never stopped at all.  And I wondered if, similarly, all the healing that I had in my year off would diminish a few minutes after my first real fight back, when my claws strike human flesh and end human life…

"Back inside!" Yoji had yelled to us from the house.

Farfello and I jumped away from each other.  He grinned crazily at me and gave me a kind of salute, welcoming me back in his own, queer way.

Looks like Kritiker has found the breakthrough it's been waiting for.  And it looks like I'm also going to find out very soon what all this would do to my head.

Kritiker made videos that were as idiot-proof as they could possibly make 'em.

The lack of time meant that there would be no videos this time, but we were briefed in no less detail.

Manx said, that the world powers involved were kept strictly confidential.  A country who was in on the scam didn't know who else was involved.  This ensured the security of the project.  What link they had between them consisted of the six Prometheus kids, who were the brains of the entire operation.

"In short," she said, "if you eliminate Prometheus, the rest of those involved do not have the means to continue the project."

The project being…

"There have been newfound deposits of oil around Alaska," said Manx, "that, combined with the energy that this Chase man can summon... they have the capacity to, and have been sending out, satellites from their island base.  These satellites sent to orbit the Earth are then controlled by signals from the base to go wherever they want it to go.  Signals reinforced by Sarah the radio-signal girl.  These satellites gather energy from the sun, convert it to a laser tight-beam that could fry anything that gets in its way with a long-range, pin-point accuracy never before seen in weapons technology.  You can imagine them taking the entire world hostage; city by city, country by country… anyone who would not give in to their demands could be wiped out in a flash.  It's easy to see how the governments currently involved could lend themselves and their funding to this madness; be one of the terrorists, or be one of the terrorized.  Especially if they are led into believing that there are already other superpowers involved.  Most likely, if we kill the project, they wouldn't pursue it either, and would be glad the threat is gone.  With any luck."

Manx gave the floor to Omi with a nod.

"There's a kind-of crazy cycle to this whole operation," said Omi, "Prometheus can't terrorize the world without the technology.  And the technology can't be made to work without Prometheus.  Each is dependent of the other.  But if we went after just the people, they can threaten to use the technology, at which case we would have to give in to them.  If we went after just the technology, we may stop them for now, but Prometheus could come together again and create new ways of terrorism.  We have to go after both.

"There's nine of us," continued Omi after a breath, "I suggest two teams.  One, whose most basic function is to destroy the technology.  The second, whose main function is to eliminate Prometheus.  I guess it's needless to say that our chances of success would be better if those of us who have special abilities went after Prometheus, and those of us who don't would go after the technology."

That meant me.  And Ran and Omi and Yoji, because who else would it be who had "no special abilities?" It made a lot of sense, but I wanted to fight.  And I wondered if the others thought that it was unfair that they had to deal with what I must admit seems the harder, the Prometheus kids.  I glanced toward Schuldich and the others.  Except for Farfello's obvious excitement, there seemed no objections or any other reaction.

"When do we move out?" asked Yoji.

"Immediately," answered Manx.

Alaska

We took planes into Alaska, and after we landed, we found that Kritiker had done us the favor of having some of its muscle men hijack us a food-delivery boat to the island base.  Well! We're doing most of the work and it was the least they could do!

The boat was jam-packed with food supplies which evidently, the base imported from the mainland.  We looked over the inventory and found out how much rations went to a soldier in a day, and how long these supplies were supposed to last.  It was a stroke of luck, really.  Now, aside from the Prometheus kids, we had a vague idea about how large the army was in that island.  How large a group we would have to go through to wreck that blasted technology.  It wasn't a stroke of luck, however, that as I did the math in my head, the number seemed so distant and astronomical.

The soldiers who were manning the hijacked boat had been stripped, and we donned their black, armored gear, as other Kritiker troops stuffed our own gear inside the food stuffs.  Anything with gunpowder on it, like the bombs we needed to wreck the hardware, were stuffed into the barrels of fish.  That way, its smell could not be detected.  I mean, they opened up those barrels for two minutes, and I think I'm going to smell the damn fish for a week.  Later, when we unload the bombs and go up to our arms in the stuff, I'll probably smell like fish for days after.

I checked my watch, or more appropriately, the watch of the soldier who had owned the uniform I am wearing.  All of the soldiers' watches were the same and synchronized, so we assumed it was the time that the base kept.  Our plan was to check into the base at the end of the shift that had waved off this ship and its crew, so they won't wonder why suddenly all the people changed.  

I secured the comm link on my ear.  One by one, Manx asked us to "check in" to ensure that the links worked.  After I had checked in, I also checked the palm pilot they had given each of us.  It was black and sleek and handy, and contained detailed and computer-refined maps of the base from, ironically, satellite photographs.  I could zoom in and out, and these also tracked each of the nine of us.  It also gave various readings, from sound to temperature to altitude, and a whole lot of other things that I didn't have the time or inclination to find out.  Omi had been thrilled-giddy though.  The tracker showed that we were at sea, about an hour away from the island.  I have to admit it is an excellent piece of equipment.  That's modern-day crime-fighting for you.  Sadly, this technology has also modernized crime itself.

We began to sail the ship from the discreet place we had commandeered.  

I sat on the deck of the boat, looking idly over the beautiful view.  Greens and mountains and glacial blue waters, surrounding a quiet, distant city.

When I was in Japan, I never really dreamed of getting around all over the world.  And now, all within a year, I had gone from my home to America to Europe and back.  The world was a beautiful place.

Surprise of all surprises, it was Farfello who was manning the boat.  Omi had sat beside me and laughingly told how the Irishman had said that his country was surrounded by water, damnitt, of course he knows.

"You've studied your maps?" Omi asked me earnestly.

"Yup."

"Checked your gear?"

"Yup."

Sharpened your bugnuks?"

"Yup."

He paused.  And looked as if he was racking his brain for more questions.  Other questions, aside from the only one that he really needed to ask.

I sighed.  "I'm all right, Omi."

He bit his lip, smiled guiltily.  "It's been a long time, Kenken.  You understand why I had to ask."

I grinned at him.  "You didn't ask."

He chuckled.  We fell into a companionable silence.

The others were lounging on deck too.  We had a few minutes to relax before everything went crazy in a really very big way.  I nodded to Marco and Ivan, who had an unfazed Nagi between them, leaning on the railings and talking quietly as they looked down on the water.

"How is it to work with them?" I asked.

"They are very good," Omi answered, "they do good work.  All this time we had worked with them, they never even had to use any of their special abilities.  Well maybe Marco.  I always thought he went by really very fast."

"Did things change much?" I asked.

"Of course," said Omi, "you hadn't been around."

He paused.  I looked at him.  He seemed to want to say something.

"Yoji said you were dead," he said simply, "I think he believed it.  And because he believed it, I believed it.  Ran didn't say anything.  We were all recuperating that time, remember? But you were never really really dead.  It was like you just went away, you know? It's probably because I didn't know how you died, and why.  And no one would tell us anything.  Yoji said you were on a mission.  But why would you take on a mission alone…? And now here comes Manx and she wants to kill you.  Marco and Ivan called you a traitor.  They say you are dead but act as if you were alive… And there are so many other things I don't know."

I couldn't tell him why I sacrificed Manx.  He would be silly enough to think that it was all his fault.  Deep inside, I knew Omi must have his guesses, and he's smart enough to be near the truth.  I know Ran knew why Manx was after me.  And Yoji was perceptive enough to be able to put the pieces together, this past year.

"I needed something," I said uneasily, "And I had an exchange with the target.  I gave them Manx.  After I got what I needed, I rescued her, though it still counts as a betrayal."

Omi frowned, but nodded, understanding that I didn't want to take it any further than that.

"Well," he said with a breath, "you must have needed it very badly."

Trust Omi not to look to me as a villain.

"You know," he said, "I was checking my mail, and there your message was: Guess who's back.  It's still there, I never deleted it.  I never would.  I saw it, and I knew it was you.  I worked extra fast to find out where you were.  I traced your message right down to which computer you had used in that internet café in Montana.  Then I traced the atm you had used… It really was you.  And we went into that house, and there were traces of you everywhere.  Changed, but it was still you.  I was just so overwhelmed."

What he said had warmed me, and I was just grinning at him, making my eyes shrink as much as I could, so he wouldn't have to see the tears that I was valiantly trying to hide.

"And now here you are," he said, looking at me shyly, "Back to us.  You came home."

"We have to get ready," Ran murmured, at us, making Omi turn to face him.  Omi's head turned long enough for me to hurriedly wipe at my face with my sleeve.  

Before he got up, Omi faced me again.  "Don't die in this mission, Ken.  We won't lose you again.  And when its done, we'll blow the place up and tell Manx you're dead.  Then you can run away as far as you want, have the life that you want."

He followed after Ran.

He wanted me to run.  But he doesn't understand.  He would still lose me if I ran.  I would still lose them if I ran.  I've made my choices.  And I've accepted my losses.  I didn't want to tell him, of course.  But there would be no more running after this.  Like Crawford said, even in running, there is no escape.  Why bother to.

It was a good thing that the bombs had been placed with the fish, because at the checkpoint, soldiers had dogs who sniffed around.  After some anxious moments, they waved us through, and we were in the island base at last.

Evening was descending around us slowly.  As Farfello maneuvered the ship into the port, the rest of us quickly unpacked our gear from their hiding places inside the food—shoving my arms into the fish barrel had been as bad as I thought it would be—and stuffed them into nondescript, regulation-looking black bags.  The black bags, we carried over our shoulders as other soldiers entered the boat to unload it.

"What's that?" one of the men asked, nodding towards our bags, a in a heavily southern-accented English.

We've finally found use of Marco, who had grown up in America to Japanese foster parents, and his big mouth. 

"Cigars and stuff," he replied coolly in English, "for the brass, you know.  With rank comes privilege and all that shit."

Another of the men looked at me, Yoji, Omi, Ran and Nagi.  "I didn't know the Japs joined in the bandwagon."

"There's a lot you don't know, eh?" said Marco with a wink.

The man laughed and made a show out of mock-bowing at us three times.  In fairness, his soldier mates weren't really so amused, so I did not attribute this to discrimination, just a very singularly sick humor.  I smiled at him and told him, in the most crude, street-slang words I could find in my native tongue, basically, to go fuck himself.

I heard Omi block out a laugh with a cough.  It didn't sound very convincing.

"What did he say?" the man asked suspiciously.

"Thanks for the welcome," lied Marco.  "We gotta split or it's my head, dude.  You got all this stuff?"

"Yeah," he replied warily, "eh, you think you have any extra cigars over there?"

"No can do," said Marco, "it's my head, 'ayt?"

"Yeah, yeah," the man waved us away.  He and his other soldier mates loaded their arms with food inside the boat, I suppose, to bring them to the truck I saw waiting for them when we went out of the boat.  The port wasn't busy at all, except for the flurry our arrival had caused.

"Lynx, blast the truck on my signal," murmured Ran over the comm, "the rest of us, on three."

Ran counted down to three.  We all scrambled to lock down all exits from where the soldiers were in the storage hold.

"Hey--!" I heard them exclaim, and start pounding on the doors.  I'm sorry guys, we're all just caught up in this mess of a life—

We ran as far away from the boat as we could.

"Eeryone clear?!" I yelled over my comm, and I counted down the quick affirmatives before I grabbed two bombs from my bag and tossed them aboard.  The height and range of it I attributed to soccer.  I hit the ground flat, and waited a few breaths…

BOOM!

My ears rang as I raised my head and looked up at the fiery sight.  I looked at the nearby truck, from which some soldiers were already getting out, to see what was going on.

"Lynx, now," Ran said coolly over the comm.

I watched Ivan get to his feet, open his palms and face them toward the truck, sending a massive, invisible wave of energy that had the truck, and all its contents rolling in a heap at least ten feet away from where it was parked.  The ground shook with his strength.  I imagined the organs of those men he had blasted were putty by now.  I was impressed, but now that I had even more of an idea what kind of people these Prometheus kids were, I think I had to sweat even just a little.

We could hear sirens in the distance.  This port would be crowded pretty damn soon.

The nine of us split up.  I was left with Omi, Ran and Yoji as Schwarz and the twins headed off in search of the Prometheus kids.  Nagi had hotwired a nearby all-terrain jeep, which they had all piled into.  Omi, Ran, Yoji and I headed for another, which Omi had the engine running in three seconds.  Pretty ironic, for a guy who knows how to hotwire but not to drive.  Yoji took the wheel.  For all the mad driving he and Ran did, it hardly mattered whop had the wheel.  At the back seat, I clenched my fists to draw the claws of my bugnuks.  The sound was crisp and sharp.  They and I were ready.

I looked at the map on my palm pilot.  

The island base had a small port, a landing strip, their satellite launch area, and oil reserves, which were all a short drive from a sizeable compound made up of short buildings and warehouses.  Everything was surrounded by trees and rough roads, some leftover signs of the untamed paradise they had disturbed to create their base.  Almost everything had a security outpost; the port, the strip, the launch pad, the reserves, the compound surrounded by an electrical fence.  Our distraction at the port practically guaranteed that most of the order and security would go to shit by now, at least, for a little while.

I checked the tracer.  The Schwarz team were headed for the compound.  It had to do with Schuldich sensing where the Prometheus kids were.  But if Schuldich could sense them, their telepath could probably sense us too…

Yoji drove towards the launch area.  There was a control tower there.  If the hardware for the radio signals that Sarah Sound Wave enforced was anywhere, it had to be there.  Thing was… I hope they weren't launching anything this evening.  If they were… that meant that in the least, Sarah and Chase were there.  And that basically also meant that Yoji, Ran, Omi and I were very potentially figuratively and literally Toast.

Yoji stopped by the security outpost.  Two guards walked over to our vehicle, two more stayed at the outpost, watching us.

"Where 'ya headed?" asked one of the guards, looking worriedly over his shoulder at the inferno lighting the skies from the direction we had come.

Omi brought him down with a crossbow to the neck.  Before they knew what hit them, Omi disposed of the other three.

Stepping out of the vehicle, Ran pulled the bodies out of the way as I went inside the outpost and put up the bar so the truck could pass through.  I gave Omi and Yoji a good luck wave as they drove past, leaving me and Ran to stand there.

I looked at him.  He nodded in acknowledgement, and the two of us made at our best run towards the reasonably nearby landing strip.  We've killed the port.  Now we'll get the planes and helicopters in the landing strip.  One way or another, we would keep Prometheus within this island.

Ran made quick work of the security outpost men, then we continued on by foot towards the landing pad itself.  The private jet loomed.  There was also about three helicopters there, and two troop carriers.  There was some activity in the strip.  But it was nothing Ran and I couldn't handle.  We still had the soldiers' uniforms, for one thing, and if we went about our business disturbed, we could probably fend them off.

I looked around.  I saw some jeeps and motorbikes parked parallel to the landing strip.  I caught Ran's eye.  It must have been those years we worked together.  He nodded and we split in opposite directions.

I grabbed a small, black pack from my bag and removed some adhesive from the back.  I stuck it to the underbelly of the jet's cockpit, punched in the code and set the time for three minutes.

I quickly moved through various technicians to one of the troop carriers.  It was big and armored.  I know that to inflict any damage, I have to put the bombs in from the inside.

The first was empty.  I stuck one black pack in the cockpit, punched in the code, set the time for two minutes.  Then I moved to the second one, which wasn't empty at all.

There were seven men in the carrier.  Four playing poker, three goading and betting.  They all looked up at me.  I saw their faces.  I didn't have much time, but I swear I saw their faces.

I launched myself at them, bugnuks finding necks absently.  The feeling of slicing through flesh and bone, the smell of blood and death… I paused in the center of the carnage, barely out of breath.  The first of my new kills… I know there isn't any time, but I have to know.  I have to wonder, if I feel the same stirrings of glee within me.  I felt… nothing.  Which must have been a step-up from my old madness.  Yes, this wasn't so bad at all.

I shook my head to clear it of all my nonsense.  I ran to the cockpit, activated the black pack and ran towards the parked jeeps and bikes.  Ran was already seated on a motorbike.

I suppose he knew how to ride, but we had to go fast, with the blast of the bombs we had set about to rage behind us.  I slid into one of the bikes.

"Can you handle it?" I asked him.

I think he snorted at me.  I don't know.  Adroitly, he set his bike into motion and sped away.

I had to grin as I followed.  Well someone had to use my bike when I left Weiß.  Ran learned fast and he learned very well.  The blast behind us was loud and strong and very satisfying.

"All forms of exit from the island had been destroyed," Ran said coolly over the comm.

The two of us drove side by side towards the launch area, where Omi and Yoji were attempting to take down the control tower.

Along the road, Schuldich came into the comm.

"Weiß!" he exclaimed, "the wily brain-bender put a trick on me.  Do not go to the launch area.  Repeat, do not go to the launch area! We will be there in five minutes."

My blood turned cold.  I drove with one hand, the other on my palm pilot.  The blips that showed where Yoji and Omi were, at the launch area-- weren't moving at all.

"Goddamnitt," I heard myself mutter as I drove the bike harder, zooming past Ran.

"Balinese," I heard Ran call over the comm., "Bombay.  Check-in now."

I waited for a reply.  There was none.  It meant that either the sound-wave girl was interfering with our communications, or Yoji and Omi were already… gone.

***

My way through to the launch pad was blocked by no one possibly else but the one Marco said they had called the Giant.  Nichos stood in the middle of the road, fearless even as I decided I would just plow into him at my breakneck mph.  They said he was invincible, but that much force ought to shake him up, even just a little bit.

I had been really very sadly and regrettably wrong.  

The two of us were like a tree and a car crash.  The wheel hit him, and the bike just stopped, the inertia sending me soaring into the air.  I tried to roll with the force, hoping I would chance on a half-decent landing.  I remembered that in such cases, the tree usually had a dent, the car was a total wreck, and the driver always ended up dying, tossed meters away through the windshield.  It made a graphic, bloody mess inside my head… my head… I don't even have a frigging helmet on.

I landed hard on my back on the ground at a furious roll.  It hurt like hell, but I managed to get on my wobbly feet, and waited as the world stopped spinning.

"Siberian!" Ran was yelling over the comm.

"I'm fine," I said, but my voice shook some.  I wasn't just fine.  I felt like laughing! I'm so goddamn lucky! I didn't even have a single broken bone!

Ran zipped by Nichos.  He was smart enough to move around him, and the Giant, as Ivan mentioned, was big and strong but far from fast.  I felt ridiculously embarrassed.  Ran stopped by me.  I looked towards Nichos, quite some feet away, stalking towards us.  

"We'll take care of him later," said Ran.

I nodded and grabbed my bag of bombs which had fallen and had rolled with me.  I shuddered to think what could have happened if they blew up.

I rode behind Ran, and he zoomed off the very moment I secured my arms around his waist.  I couldn't blame him for wanting to rush.  Behind us, Nichos had picked up my bike and began to throw it towards us.  Ran had driven fast enough such that we got just ahead of it as it crashed to the ground.

We literally hit the ground running.  The bike stopped, and we just ran off towards where the signals of Yoji and Omi were.

I noted that the control tower was still very proudly erected, and this only meant that Omi and Yoji were otherwise occupied from doing the job.  Or probably too dead to… The thought was anguish, but there was no time to dwell on it, there never seemed to be time enough to just be a really very sad guy lately…

Marco had beat us to them, though.  He must have used that speed to beat Schuldich and the others here too.  But his powers really couldn't do much, for they were more on the defensive than the offensive.  The three of them stood back to back in a bloodied, defensive huddle, surrounded by what appeared to be most of the surviving Prometheus; Alexandra the cat woman, one man—Chase, with flames dancing on his fingers, and two other women.  Another man stood just outside of the loose circle, wired, cross-bowed, bloodied and very much dead.

I took off running, bugnuks drawn, towards one of the two other women.  They had very dangerous long-range weapons, and were best caught surprised.  Chase's fire, Yoji and the others could dodge.  Alexandra's assaults, they can parry.  But the sound wave girl and the telepath was another story.  I couldn't tell which was which, though, until I jumped for my assault and was stopped mid-air by a blast of psychic energy that had my mind reeling.

*There is, after all,* Nena's voice was a malicious purr, that was so much like Schuldich's, *No surprising a telepath.  I could hear your thoughts a mile away*

*Yeah?* I thought of the image of a raised middle finger… *What am I thinking?*

Her eyes, looking at me from where she calmly stood, glinted in dangerous amusement.  *You know, I could make this very easy for me, and just make your brain explode.*

I tried to keep her attention, and tried not to think about the rest of our team as I saw them arrive, moving stealthily.

*It's no use,* she said to my mind laughingly, *I could sense all three of them, headed right this way…*

I closed my eyes, thought about flowers and soccer and Kase… anything to get me distracted enough so that she wouldn't pull anymore information out of me.  Because there aren't three of them.  There's four.  Nagi, Farfello, Ivan and Schuldich.  For some reason, she could not sense one.  Maybe Schuldich, he may be powerful enough to block her out…

But it was Farfello who had broken into a run, right behind the telepath, and brought an ice pick plunging through her back, through her heart, startling her and wounding her fatally.

She didn't die at once.  I knew this because I felt her mind, wrapping itself around mine, twining its invisible arms around my brain, stifling me.  My head was pounding.  My heart was beating too fast.  I felt her rage at her death, her determination to bring me with her… I brought my hands to my head, as if I could close it, as if I could protect myself from the last of her vicious anger…

And then it was gone.  I felt myself falling, without her power to hold me mid-air.  Drat… this was going to hurt too…

Schuldich caught me, though.  I saw him in a flurry of carrot-colored hair.  He caught me smoothly, and I caught my breath in his arms.

"I feel foolish," I told him after a few breaths.

"You ought to," he said smugly, "Like I said, the stupidity of Weiß.  Where else in the world could you find such fools who would run towards a danger you have already been warned of? Aiaiai, impossible." 

"Not about that," I said quickly, "You're carrying me."

"Yes," he said belatedly as he steadied me on my feet, "But I'm the real fool.  For catching you.  You are out of shape and fat and heavy."

"Am not!" I said resentfully.

He winked at me, and we split off in search of other prey.

"About fucking time," Yoji growled at me, when we finally found ourselves without opponents after Marco, Ivan, Farfello, Nagi and Schuldich took on Prometheus, and Ran and Omi took on the nuisance but sizeable opponents in the soldiers who were ordered to fight.

"That control tower is standing up there and snickering at me," he said wryly.

I glanced toward Sarah sound wave.  She and Ivan were making a fabulous wreck out of the whole place.  The ground protested as they exchanged concussive blasts that rocked everything.

"What the fuck happened?" I asked Yoji as we ran for the bombs we had set aside mid-fight, and off towards the control tower. 

"We got here and they were just waiting for us," he answered, "The telepath said something about fooling old carrot-top over there.  Anyway, Omi and I went on the defensive.  I think they could have finished us sooner, very easily.  But they played a little, and waited for the rest of you.  Bait.  How embarrassing.  Sarah also said that she could still activate the lasers from down here, in correspondence with the tower we failed to destroy, and goaded us about making Tokyo a target."

"Shit," I muttered, "We'd better hurry and blow it up, then.  They look like they're losing, and she is going to be mightily pissed."

"Yeah," Yoji agreed, "While Lynx is keeping her distracted up to her ears in bullshit."

"This is Siberian and Balinese," I said over the comm., "we're headed for the control tower."

Side by side, Yoji and I headed for the ten-story building.  Some soldiers got in the way, and I felt bad about killing them, but there was no time to talk sense.  Hopefully, the rest f this army would figure out by now that the evil is going to stop, and it was for the best.

Someone had hit the fire alarm earlier, and the entire place was lit in dim, emergency red.  It was empty, and I guess that it is good in the sense that there would be less casualties.  But the alarm being up meant that the elevators were on lockdown, and we had to take all those flights up to the main control room by foot.

Wordlessly, Yoji led the way up the narrow staircase in his best running pace.  My muscles were locking.  I wasn't used to this anymore, and that is just a real bitch.  But I grit my teeth through it and kept on.  Hey, if Yoji-the-old-man can handle it, so could I.

We got to the top floor, and I kept my tongue from dangling off my mouth.  Jesus! Did I always used to do that?

Wordlessly, we peppered the room with black packs and punched in codes and timers.  We paused long enough for a breath and were about to get on our way out of the building until we noticed a ticking coming from one of the computers.

"This is like a fucking nightmare!" Yoji muttered, stalking towards the computer.  I knew it was going to be bad when I saw his eyes widen as he read what it said.

"This thing says that the target is locked," he said to me gravely, "and that it is just gathering energy from the sun to commence firing.  Firing at Tokyo.  In three goddamn minutes."

I bit my tongue from cursing, went on the comm..  "Lynx, plug her! She sent the signal.  Tokyo is out of the face of the Earth in less than three minutes!"

No reply.

"This signal has gone straight to hell!" I exclaimed at Yoji, trying to rack my brain for the answers.  "All right, Yo-tan.  I'm dead anyway, even if I get out of this alive.  But you have a life to live, after this mission.  If you go now, you can still make it out of the building.  I'll set the bombs, change the times to a minute before detonation.  Then I'll try running out after you."

"You made me run away and leave you once," he said stubbornly, "Never again.  I'm not going to look Omi in the eye and tell him you're dead again, all right? I'm not going to look in a mirror and tell myself that I could have done something to save you and didn't, all right? Never again.  We stick this one out."

I stared at him.  I shook my head in dismay, but I felt my heart pushed into extra strength.

With a nod, we both went to work on the bombs we had set.  Decoding, coding, re-setting, all as the computer ticked down Tokyo's doom.

The moment we were done, we headed for the door, running through the corridor to the stairwell, step after step going down.  Stumbling, getting up dumbly and continuing on, as the seconds counted down in my head.

*What floor are you in?* I heard Schuldich's mind, soft but insistent inside the storm of mine.  I glanced up at the sign as we turned another corner, another flight.

*Seven.*

*Get off the stairwell,* he said, *Find the row of windows facing west.  Jump out.  Trust me.  You'll never make it out the stairwell in time.*

I grabbed Yoji's hand and dragged him out to the corridor of the sixth floor.

"What the—" he was saying.

"I'm taking Schwarz's advice," I explained in a huff, as I paused, looked at my palm pilot and looked for where the West was.

Yoji was skeptical, but I knew it was only by reflex.

"The first time I left you behind," he said breathlessly, "Crawford told me to trust him.  I asked him why in hell would I want to do that.  He said because you did.  I trust you, Kenken.  And I guess that's transferable.  Lead the way."

I ran slightly ahead of him to a wide, office-like room with a long, tall row of windows.  I headed for two panels and made quick work of it by using a nearby chair to shatter it.

I looked at Yoji.  He was looking down.  

"Oh you mean this way," he said wryly, meeting my eyes, "That's a pretty long way down," he laughed, "but it's a longer way down to hell, isn't it?"

I grinned at him.

"Three, two, one…"

We jumped.

And we fell, but only for a little while.  Nagi Noe had made good use of his powers and caught us and took us down in an elevator of a psychic bubble.

The building collapsed behind us, but the fight on the ground wasn't over by a long shot.

Nichos had finally arrived, and the more fire there was around us, the more Chase could summon to fry us with.  Not to mention the fact that they are royally pissed for having been screwed.  The air had a new cackle of tension to it, less of a sense of urgency, but more of a sense of anger and desperation.

Alexandra the cat was down, but so was Ivan, whose ass was being covered by his brother and by Ran.  By now, the soldiers knew that their project had gone straight to hell, and was no longer interrupting us but running in all sorts of directions, trying to get away.

I looked around.  Sarah was being handled by Ran and Marco.  Chase was squaring off with Schuldich.  Omi and Farfello were ganging up on Nichos.

"The odds look good," I told Yoji and Nagi, who were both with me, trying to gauge where we would lend our considerable talents.

I watched as Omi flew past us after Nichos hit him and sent him head over heels.  Coolly, Nagi threw up his hand and caught him in another bubble.

"I wouldn't speak too soon," he murmured softly, walking calmly towards the marauding Giant.

"Well he never does," said Yoji to me, as he ran off towards Chase and Schuldich to lend a hand.

I looked to Ran and Marco, only to find Red had already plunged his katana into Sarah.  I decided to just run towards where Nagi landed Omi, to see how he was doing.

He was on his ass on the floor, wincing, but conscious at least.  That could have been a death-blow.

"You okay?" I asked, on one knee in front of him.

He looked up at me and forced a smile.  "It's not so bad."

"Stay here and catch a breath," I advised, hauling myself to my feet.  Schuldich and Yoji were keeping Chase occupied enough, but Nichos was just swatting my teammates away like flies.  

"There has to be a handle on that guy," Omi said to me.  I looked down at him.

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"Remember," answered Omi, "he was created by ambitious men.  But he is too powerful.  They have to have a means to control him.  They were smart.  They must have known to give him a weakness, somewhere.  I thought, with their preoccupation for mythology, his weak spot would be his heel.  Like the powerful Achilles."

"You've tried it?" I asked.

He smiled sourly.  "A lot of good it did me.  He just kind of sent a little kick my way."

I looked at the Giant.  He worked like a goddamn machine.  I could see our teammates just getting tossed in the air.  But what Omi said made great sense to me.  There had to be a weakness.  There had to be a handle.  They reared these kids up since they were young.  I know kids, and I know they could get out of control.  And you don't want an invulnerable kid in a tantrum.  There had to be a weakness…

"Prometheus was punished by the gods…" I thought aloud, "chained to a mountain with links that even the strongest titans couldn't break.  But someone rescued him, right? Someone saved Prometheus…"

Omi's eyes glinted in appreciation, "Hercules."

I sighed.  "Damn it, Omi, he's invulnerable too."

"But Hercules did die in the myth," said Omi.

"Yeah? What about that whole Disney thing?" I asked.

"They have a tendency to sanitize for their young viewers," he said wryly, "Hercules died in a fire."

I looked towards Chase.

*Schuldich!* my mind screamed.  I didn't have any powers, but if he was in tune with me, he just might hear…

*I'm busy* Schuldich sent to me in reply.

*Can you get Chase to believe that Nichos is his enemy?* I asked.

*I'm having a hard time getting into his head,* the German admitted, *He's like Farfello.  He has the will to block us out.  It's his years with the woman telepath.*

*But he's distracted now,* I argued.

*News flash, Weiß,* he said wryly, *So am I.*

*I'll remedy that,* I told him, running towards them, *Try to work with him.*

I plunged into the battle just as Schuldich stepped back.  Chase was madly tossing fire at Yoji and me.  The heat was terrible.  If I got out of this thing, I would come out as red as a lobster.

I watched from the corner of my eye as Schuldich fell to his knees on the ground, his head clutched between his hands and his eyes wide and empty.  I knew then that he had succeeded.

Chase paused from our fight.  Yoji was about to take the opportunity to kill him, but I grabbed him by the arm and yelled towards our teammates who were fighting Nichos.

"Get the hell away from there!"

Chase turned, enraged, towards Nichos.  Our teammates jumped away just as all hell came down on the Giant.

I watched, awed, as the Giant burst into flames and burned to his death.  And even more astounding, was that Chase was wildly burning too.  He was screaming with his wrath, his flesh burning, the fires shooting wildly to the air, the backdraft of all that energy was creating an invisible, stiflingly hot force.

I coughed at all the smoke.  The fires were spreading all over the island, to the nearby forests too.  I just suddenly thought that, though we had successfully eliminated Prometheus and destroyed any means for them to escape, we had no way out ourselves, because our communications with Kritiker had been wiped out by Sarah, and they were supposed to provide for our exit.

I felt Schuldich beside me.

"We have to leave now," he said.

I looked at him.  His face was drawn and pale, from the exertion of going into Chase's mind.  "What did you do?"

"I tapped into all of his guilt and regrets and murderous anger," said Schuldich, "all his hate.  All the injustice done to him.  I told him Nichos was at fault so Chase destroyed him.  But his anger is great, and it is consuming him, mind and body.  And us all who happen to be in the way, by the way.  He would burn this place to the goddamn ground."

"Can you send a message to Manx?" I asked, "the radio is all fucked up."

He nodded, but I felt him waver a little.  I caught him, and slung his arm over my shoulders.  I looked around.  Marco aided Ivan and Yoji took care to assist Omi.  Ran, Nagi and Farfello stood on their own feet.  We looked like a mess, but we were all alive.

We walked to the shoreline.  It was a long trek, and hazardous with all the smoke and fire, but we made it.  As we waited for our rescue boats, Omi was looking at me with those big watery baby blues.  It was like I could hear his thoughts.  He doesn't want me to go with Kritiker, who would execute me.  But he couldn't ask me to stay for certain death in this burning island either.

Like I always said.  This is my life, I should no longer be surprised by lose-lose situations.

The boats arrived at last, and seeing that Manx would be the one to welcome us aboard, I wordlessly passed Schuldich off to Ran's able shoulders.  One by one, they boarded the deck.  I held my ground, waist deep in water and met Manx's eyes evenly.

There was a struggle in her eyes.  Angry but tired pools.  She was very honestly at a loss as to what to do with me.  Ran and the others stood next to her.  I knew that they would try and stop her if she tried to hurt me, but they too seemed to be wondering what Manx was thinking about.

Finally, she said, "Aren't you getting aboard?"

The sick bay of the ship had become a busy place, with each of us needing some minor repairs.

Ivan was getting his head and ribs patched up, everyone had some minor bruise or cut, and Omi was getting a splint on a sprained ankle.  I sat between Yoji and Schuldich on one of the cots, and the three of us shared a tube of burn cream.

"My face is still stinging," Yoji muttered grumpily, "I'm going dateless for the next week!"

"With your amount of activity," said Schuldich as he removed the bullet-proof vest, jacket and the black shirt we had all 'borrowed' from the soldiers we had hijacked earlier, "I'm surprised you haven't dated every woman in the city."

There was a mirror just in front of us, and three shirt-less, grimy and grumpy and very red men stared back at us.

"Isn't that a sight?" whistled Schuldich.

"That's a bitch," Yoji agreed.

"We look like we spent just a little too much time at the beach," I commented.

"It doesn't seem so bad now that you put it that way," Yoji considered, "tanned is sexy on men.  And we were a little too pale anyway."

"We should have sent Fujimiya up against the sunburn boy," said Schuldich wryly.

Ran heard his name and looked up.  His face was nicely bruised.

"I think it's got some color on it now," said Yoji lightly, "not as much color as you though," he said to me, "you look like a mottled mess."

I groaned massaged the back of my neck.  Yes, the bad fall I had taken created a wild mass of green-grays and purple on my arms and torso.  Now, in my dark pants, I couldn't see the rest of me.  But the aches were telling me my legs could look just as bad.  I felt stiff and very sore everywhere.

"All in a day's work," I said with a grin, "At least now we all get to go home."

*But where is your home now?* Schuldich asked me.

And I suddenly remembered that I didn't know.

Montana

      The sun was just rising.

      I thought I would be the first one up, when I walked that cool winter morning towards where I had laid Crawford to rest.  All of us stopped by Montana to get back on our feet and rest awhile.  It was a good move, because I also needed to figure out where I was going to go.

      I found Schuldich on Crawford's hill, sitting in front of the new tombstone, his knees closed to his chest, his arms circled around them.  I decided to turn around and not disturb him.

      *You already have,* he told me in that dry way of his.

      I paused for a moment in thought, and finally decided it must have been an invitation to come and join him.

      I stood beside Schuldich, and for awhile, he didn't say anything to me at all.  Then he turned his head up to face me.

      "You did all right by Crawford," he said to me.

      "I hoped so."

      "I didn't even know he had this place," said Schuldich, "You made him into something I never could."

      "Funny," I said with a smile, "Yoji told me the exact same thing, about him."

      Schuldich shrugged.  "You can't blame us for thinking it's amazing.  It's all so unlikely.  And now here we are.  You and me here.  Life's a crazy bitch."

      I looked at Crawford's tombstone.  I came here looking for answers.  Maybe I could share some of his foresight.  Instead I find Schuldich.

      "Did you think of him as your friend?" I asked Schuldich.

      "What's in a name?" he said after awhile, "but to answer your question, yes.  In ways that you won't understand.  Simply because I don't understand it either."

      "You find friends in strange places," I added wistfully.

      "You are a good friend," he said to me, "to him.  To them.  Possibly even to me.  I don't know why you are even bothering to think about whether you would stay here or return to them."

      "Things are different now," I argued, "I don't even know if Manx would let me keep working for them.  And I have replacements, I can't just butt them out.  And I can't go back to who I was.  It would kill me.  And I like me now.  I'm all right.  It's not so bad."

      "You won't be going back to who you were," said Schuldich, "Just where you were.  It's not the same.  Anywhere you go now, you would be all right.  Here, there, it doesn't matter.  But there has to be more than that.  Who do you want to be with? Figure that out, and all the little details will take care of themselves."

      I gave him a tight smile. 

      "I'll take care of this place while you are gone," he said, knowing the answer without having to invade my mind.

      I patted his back and left him sitting across from Crawford.  I guess I could easily say that we've both figured out whom we want to be with.  

All the little details would just have to take care of themselves now.  I'm headed back to Tokyo with my friends.

THE END

April 5, 2003 

NOTES:

Info on the Tonfa:

http:// 

As much as I love his character, I wanted to make a fic that showed Ken growing up; growing into himself, beyond the madness.  I hope it wasn't too OOC J

On the music, all of them radiated a kind-of Industrial pop-rock feel.  I picked the songs such that even they felt the same J I love the feeling of the song at the end of a good movie so I tried to incorporate that J

        
  


End file.
